


Armies

by nekojita



Category: All For the Game - Nora Sakavic
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Mob, Canon-Typical Violence, Dark!Neil, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Implied/Referenced Dubious Consent, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, Knives, M/M, Minor Character Death, Neil as Abram, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Swearing, also dark!Andrew, bamf!Andrew, lets face it it's dark, will add character tags as they show up
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-24
Updated: 2017-02-02
Packaged: 2018-08-10 16:56:56
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 20
Words: 341,918
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7853419
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nekojita/pseuds/nekojita
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Upon Mary Hatford's death, Nathaniel Wesninski makes the call to his uncle Stuart rather than continuing on the run and ending up in Milport, Nevada.<br/>Upon graduating university, Andrew Minyard turns down all offers of a professional Exy career and muddles through a 'normal' life, until the boredom and inanity of it all wears him down and he accepts an offer of a break to spend some time with his cousin Nicky in Stuttgart, Germany.<br/>There he meets Abram Hatford, a handsome and broken young man who has more in common with Andrew than he suspects, and nothing's normal anymore.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. If Nothing Breaks, Nothing Moves

**Author's Note:**

> Okay, so, this is me giving in to this plotbunny. There's going to be some dark stuff here (obviously, considering what happens in this chapter alone), though I'm going to avoid being too explicit. I do NOT expect this to be anywhere near as long as Way Down We Go (HA!!), but we shall see. Chapters get posted when they get posted, since WDWG has first priority.
> 
> That said, enjoy!  
> *******

*******

“And there’s all these cafés and bars just a few blocks down the street, you can get on the subway as well or take a train, it’s a great location,” Nicky chattered to a jet-lagged Andrew. “Erik and I fell in love with the place!” He motioned to the tiny room after he threw open the door. “Well, here it is, your new home!”

Andrew looked at the twin bed, the only thing which would fit into a space that one really should be calling a closet and not a guest room, then set down his suitcase. “Great, now get out.”

Nicky’s grin slipped. “All right, so it’s not much, but we were lucky to find the place, really.” He sighed when Andrew just continued to stare at him. “You know where the bathroom is, towel’s on the bed, we’ll try not to disturb you in the morning and just help yourself to anything in the fridge.” He made as if to approach Andrew then thought better of it. “I’m… I’m glad you’re here, really.” He offered Andrew a nervous smile. “Things will work out, you’ll see.” Then he finally got the damn hint and left.

Andrew made sure to close the door behind him and lock it before he dropped his backpack to the floor as well, then looked around the room. Beside the bed, there was a tiny dresser and a nightstand crammed into the closet-like space. Good thing he hadn’t brought much with him when he’d come to Stuttgart. Then again, he really hadn’t had much that he’d cared about when he decided to say ‘to hell with it’ back in Columbia, after he’d quit his job. Considering that his employers were unlikely to give him a decent referral, it was beyond time to move on, and there wasn’t anything holding him in Columbia. Wasn’t anything holding him in the States. Nicky inviting him to Germany saved him the cost to of a ticket, though selling the GS and all of his furniture as well as most of his belongings meant that he shouldn’t have much of a problem just… just doing whatever he wanted. Taking a much delayed gap year. Or three. However long he could stretch it out. Wasn’t like he planned on doing much of anything, other than seeing where he ended up at the end of the day.

Not like anyone gave a damn, right? Well, maybe Nicky, but Nicky should know better. Having Andrew crash with him for a month or two would teach the idiot better.

Peeling off his clothes, Andrew dropped them to the floor then dug into his luggage for the knives he’d had to remove because of the damn security protocols, which he then returned to his arm bands before climbing into the bed. The sheets were cold, but he didn’t care as long as they were clean. Soon enough he was asleep, exhausted from traveling and putting up with being stuck on a plane for so long, and when he woke up the next day, Nicky and Erik had already gone off to work. He went out into their apartment to find a pot of coffee still on and a note on the counter with a ridiculous smiley face left for him, in German, telling him to make his own breakfast. The coffee had turned a bit bitter but was strong, which was good, and there were eggs and sausage in the fridge, and bread left out on the counter. Andrew ate but left the dishes in the sink, then found another note with the wifi password on the table. He went to fetch his laptop, then spent most of the morning looking at things on the internet before he took a shower.

Nicky’s apartment was old but bright thanks to the many windows, filled with comfortable furniture and photos of him with his husband, Erik. There were also a couple of pictures of Nicky’s days back at Palmetto State, of him in his Foxes’ uniform with an unsmiling Andrew next to him, along with a sullen Aaron and a glowering Kevin; Andrew made sure to turn all of those pictures face down, along with a photo of Aaron and Katelyn at their wedding.

Andrew was reading a book and debating on if he should make himself something for dinner when Nicky and Erik returned, both of them laughing about something. “Ah, you look much better now,” Erik said, his handsome face split with a wide grin. “Did you sleep well? Was the bed comfortable?”

Kind, pleasant people were so damn annoying, Andrew thought. “Despite sleeping in a shoebox, yes,”

Erik laughed some more. “I apologize, it is small, isn’t it? Good thing it’s you staying in there, isn’t it?”

Nicky winced at that. “Ah, we’re talking about going down to a bar for something to eat, do you want to come?” He was quick to change the topic – and to bring up alcohol – before Andrew could say anything to his cousin’s husband for that reference about his height.

Well, Andrew supposed it would be discourteous to break his host’s kneecaps on the first day, right? “Sounds great. Let me grab my coat.” He gave Erik a narrowed look as he went back to the shoebox, and heard Nicky whisper something as he entered the room.

The area they were in – Bohnenviertel – was full of a bunch of shops and cafés and wine bars and shit like that, until Andrew wanted to gag at the quaintness of it all and start tripping the tourists. Nicky led then down some winding streets to a bar with a castle riven with a lightning bolt hanging out front, where a couple of people called out his and Erik’s name.

The bar was big on wine, of course, though it did have several taps of the regional German beers; Andrew just ordered some Irish whiskey, neat, pleased with the better selection available there. He was introduced as Nicky’s cousin to several of the couple’s coworkers and had the impression that Nicky was trying to pave the way to finding him a job in the company, which yeah, not happening. First, Andrew had a criminal record, and two, so not interested. He’d tried the whole nine to five thing after graduating, Wymack finding him a job with an old friend in an evident fit of charity, and it hadn’t gone well. He was tired of getting up every day to do the same old thing, tired of dealing with idiots and having to behave, just… tired and so full of anger at how this was what he had left, after all he had done. Only the fact that he wasn’t willing to spend the rest of his life locked up in a cage kept him from lashing out with that anger, and pushing it down each day only made him more tired. So he just stood there at the bar and let Nicky buy him another drink, and half-listened while these strangers prattle on about how much fun it must be to live in America and take a few weeks off of work.

He followed a tipsy Nicky and a laughing Erik back to their apartment, and went straight to his tiny room when Nicky began to make out with his husband. The next couple of days were much of the same, him getting up late, making himself something to eat and reading, then going out with the two in the evening. Sometimes they went back to the bar, sometimes Nicky decided to take him ‘sight-seeing’. Andrew much preferred the bar, even if he stood there quiet while everyone talked around him.

He could tell that Nicky was growing worried at his general apathy, and tried to bring up things back home once or twice, to bring up Aaron or Kevin. The cold look he got for doing that made him change the subject immediately, which proved that he could learn things. Wasn’t that nice?

After a weekend of hiking around some of the closer vineyards and Andrew revisiting his thoughts on hanging out a month or so with his cousin, they were back at the bar Monday night. Andrew had finished a much needed double whiskey and promised himself to go out the next day to buy a bottle or two, and had just stepped outside so he could light up a cigarette, grateful for the fresh air and lack of inane chatter. He had taken a puff or two when someone approached from the side and called out to him in German. “May I borrow one of those?”

“Sorry, don’t speak German,” Andrew lied in English, unwilling to be bothered at the moment.

“Ah, in that case, may I borrow one?” the person answered in a lilting British accent.

Andrew turned around at the amused voice to find a man maybe a couple years younger than himself, who had at the most three or four inches on him in height, too – hard to tell with those fancy dress shoes. The guy was giving him a slight smile, his light grey eyes cool, black hair a bit past chin-length and most of it pulled back except for a few strands loose and wavy around a gorgeous face. To top it all off, he was wearing what had to be an expensive as fuck suit, a dark grey one that was cut just so to reveal that the guy had a lean body and long legs, and Andrew could only think ‘fuck’. Something much too rare pulsed inside of him as he stared at the stranger.

“Well?”

Andrew started at the question and realized that the guy was waiting for an answer. “Why should I?”

The stranger’s lips twitched a little, the smile growing the tiniest bit. “Because it’s polite?”

“Do I look like I believe in politeness?” Andrew didn’t know why he was talking to the – okay, he knew, all right, because someone as hot as this British bastard didn’t come along every day. Still, he didn’t usually care; he put it down to it having been much too long since he’d indulged, what with Roland having found a boyfriend and all that.

The stranger cocked his head to the side and gave Andrew an assessing look. “Hmm, no, I have to admit I’m not getting that vibe from you, but it never hurts to ask, right?”

“Didn’t anyone ever tell you that asking strangers for things can get you into trouble?”

That time, the stranger gave him a full smile. “There’s so many things that can get one into trouble. I’m not going to worry about the little stuff.”

Andrew stared at him, for a moment distracted by that smile… until he noticed how those grey eyes remained cool, how the emotion didn’t carry into them. Huh, pretty boy was interesting. That was what convinced him to reach into his jacket for his packet of cigarettes and hand them over to the guy. Just as interestingly, British guy made sure to only come close enough to just reach for the pack…. and Andrew also noticed that despite the trim fit of his expensive suit, the sleeves of his jacket and shirt were rather loose. In fact, they were loose enough for something to slip out with any difficulty, say a knife or two. Not that Andrew knew anything about things like that.

Oh, pretty boy just stirred something else in Andrew, yes he did.

“So who is the person who just agreed to buy me a new pack of cigarettes, hmm?” Andrew asked as he flicked the ash off the tip of his own.

“Eh?” In the process of shaking one of out the pack, the stranger looked up at Andrew then huffed. “That’s quite the interest rate, don’t you think?”

“I’m not the one who had to ‘borrow’ off of me, am I?” Andrew pointed out.

“Too true.” British guy shrugged, the motion smooth. “Must have left them behind.” He tossed the pack back to Andrew rather than approach again, then reached into one of the jacket’s pockets to pull out what looked to be a silver lighter with something engraved on it. “My name is Abram.”

No last name, huh? Even more curious. “I’m Andrew.”

“Nice to meet you, Andrew.” Abram raised the cigarette to his lips as he lit it, and for a moment Andrew could just stare; it was a good thing that the guy had his eyes closed. Long time or not, it was indeed rare that someone affected him like ‘Abram’, but dammit, he was gorgeous and that accent….

Andrew continued to smoke his cigarette as he grew annoyed with himself, then frowned when all Abram did was blow out the one breath of smoke and hold the cigarette cupped between his fingers near his face then breathe in the delicate trails of smoke as they were released from the burning tip.

“You know, not sure how they do it over in England, but in the US, we actually smoke the damn things,” Andrew drawled. “You know, you put it between your lips and suck.”

Abram opened those pale eyes of his and smiled, the expression slight but that time, he truly appeared amused. “Why thank you for that, I had no idea. Imagine my embarrassment to learn I’ve been doing it wrong all this time.”

“Just saying,” Andrew told him before showing how it was done with exaggerated care just to piss him off.

“Hmm.” Abram just flicked off some ash while his expression smoothed out to a perfect mask. “Well, again, it’s appreciated, but I’m a strong believer in individuality. Just think how boring it would be if we all did the same thing. It’s a matter of… technique.”

Okay, now that was just… what had that been? Andrew gave Abram an intent look as he tried to figure out if there had been more to that statement than the obvious, yet Abram just stared back at him with the tiniest of smiles as if challenging Andrew to interpret it as he would. Before Andrew could say anything else, the front door of the bar opened up and Nicky stepped out. “Andrew, where the hell have you – Abram! You’re back!”

Abram’s slight smile disappeared, to be replaced by something more polite and much more distant. “Nicky, it’s good to see you,” he said in German.

“Andrew, I want you to meet Abram, Abram Hatford. He’s a friend, pops up now and then when he’s here on business.” Nicky frowned as he seemed to notice something. “Where’s your coat?”

“Left it back at the hotel.” Abram shrugged as if unbothered by the fall chill to the air. “We’ll just be going in and out of places all night, can’t be bothered with it.”

“Come on, you idiot, let’s get you inside.”

Both Andrew and Abram ditched what remained of their cigarettes and went inside while Nicky glared at them, and Andrew felt a slight measure of satisfaction when Abram followed him to the bar; the British man stood near him once there and ordered a glass of wine, which he sipped from while Nicky, Erik and the others continued to chat. All of them knew him and asked questions such as how long he was in town and if he was up for doing anything, and Andrew noticed that Abram’s answers were for the most part evasive. He also noticed that one or two of Nicky’s friends who were also gay were doing their best to hit on Abram, but he just shrugged off the attention – he also did the same to Martina, one of the women in the group. He was polite about it, but it was clear that he wasn’t interested in them.

About twenty minutes later, after Andrew had finished his drink and started on another while Neil had barely had half of his wine, the door opened to admit a well-dressed older man in a trench-coat while there was the hum of an expensive and well-tuned engine outside. Andrew caught what looked to be an Aston Martin sports sedan pulled up to the curb, with an ostentatious Rolls Royce parked behind it, out of which two more gentlemen exited. “Ram!” the older guy shouted in a clear British accent and in English. “How the hell do you always beat us here?”

Abram smiled as he set his glass aside and went over join the man. “I keep telling you, I take the metro.”

The man’s face twisted in displeasure at that. “The hell? What have I told you? Your mother’s rolling around in her grave right now, you idiot.”

“My mother taught me how to use it,” Abram told the man with a slight bite to his voice.

“Jesus fucking Christ.” The man rubbed his gloved right hand over his face, and as they stood together, Andrew noticed a slight resemblance; the pale eyes, the slender build, the lack of height. “Stop doing it, all right? Before you give me a heart attack.”

Abram didn’t say anything, and the two men from the Rolls Royce stepped into the bar, one of them an older, slightly overweight man with his balding, dark brown hair slicked back and a man in his thirties who had a stocky yet muscular build. The older British guy motioned all of them over to a table in the corner, where they huddled together and ordered a round of drinks. After talking a while, he gestured to Abram, who took over speaking to the two new guys; Andrew went near the table on the pretense of going to the bathroom, and heard what he took to be Russian.

When he came back out, the four of them were gone, along with the fancy cars. Well, now wasn’t that interesting?

He waited until they were walking home to speak up. “So, Abram, huh?”

Nicky spun around, his right arm linked through Erik’s left, and grinned at Andrew. “Ooh, I knew it! So, you like him?”

Andrew regretted his cousin finding out about him and Roland that last year in university. “I think he’s interesting. Those two things have nothing in common with each other.”

“Yep, you like him!” Nicky laughed until Andrew continued to give him a flat look. “Aw, come on! He’s gorgeous, he’s got that incredible accent, and wait until summer! You’ve got to see him in jeans and a t-shirt! Oh my god!” Nicky made a fanning motion while even Erik nodded. “He’s on our list of ‘if we ever have a threesome’.”

“Number two,” Erik agreed. “Non-celebrity.”

“I don’t want to know this shit,” Andrew informed them. “And what, so he’s gay?”

Nicky let out a heartfelt sigh. “Unconfirmed, but he makes no reaction at all, *none* to the women. Even when Monika wore the one blouse where you can see *everything*, and that usually makes the straight men forget their names. Didn’t so much as blink.”

That was good, Andrew supposed. “Who was that guy he was with earlier?”

“His uncle.” Nicky waved his left hand in the air. “He works for him, something about translating and… and stuff.” Nicky frowned as if trying to remember. “Family business, he travels a good bit. It’s so cute, the way his uncle looks out for him.” For a moment, sorrow made Nicky’s face crumple. “Think he doesn’t have any parents, but he doesn’t talk too much about himself. Just know his uncle looks out for him.”

“Yeah, you said that.” Andrew considered what was being said, and what wasn’t. He found it odd, that Nicky didn’t know more about someone he considered a ‘friend’ – the man could get a life history out of a house plant, he was that talkative. Still, Andrew didn’t want to put up with his cousin anymore that night – or his cousin’s matchmaking attempts, so he let the topic rest for the moment.

The next day, Andrew spent some time on his laptop looking up what he could find on ‘Abram Hatford’, which wasn’t much. The name didn’t seem all that popular, relatively speaking, but any he came across on Facebook or any other social media didn’t match the guy he’d met the night before. A bit frustrated by the lack of results for his efforts, he decided to go out shopping.

He had managed to pick up a decent selection of sweets and two bottles of whiskey, and was looking for a place to have lunch when he recognized a familiar face in one of the small restaurants on his way back to Nicky’s. He entered the place and went over to the table where Abram was seated, busy typing on a sleek laptop with his own hotspot, a neglected sandwich off to the side along with a cup of coffee.

“You get my pack of cigarettes yet?” Andrew asked in English as he sat down.

Abram tensed at first, then sighed as he looked up from the screen. “If you’re at the bar tonight, I’ll bring them then.” He was dressed more casual than he had last night, in a sweater and what looked to be jeans, though Andrew had the impression that they were no less expensive, and his hair was loose and falling onto his face, save for the strands tucked behind his ears. Sitting this close, Andrew could tell what he’d guessed at in the dimly light bar, that those were contacts in Abram’s eyes. “So, busy surfing for porn?”

“Hmm, nothing quite so banal,” Abram said as he continued to type. “Hacking into the queen’s personal journal so I can spread it across the net. Seems she’s been caught nipping at the gin again, it’s all so titillating.”

Andrew reached over to help himself to the untouched sandwich since he was hungry; Abram raised an eyebrow at his audacity, but didn’t say anything. One had to love that British civility. “Let me know when you get to the part where she did in Diana because she felt that she wasn’t the prettiest in the land anymore.”

“Please, we all know that was that was Phillip, all because Diana stole his favorite tiara,” Abram scoffed.

Andrew waited until he swallowed a bite – chicken, not some weird liver shit, thank god – to respond. “I thought you Brits got all offended if anyone dared to slander your precious royal family.”

“Ooh, we’re already starting on the stereotypes. Good. Aren’t you missing your cowboy boots and southern twang, Bible-belt boy?”

Andrew cocked his head at that and had another bite. “I do believe that’s the first time I’ve been referred to as that. Points for originality, but never do it again,” he warned.

“Ah, and here I thought we were developing a rapport or something, considering that you stole my food and insulted my national heritage. Forgive me.” Abram put enough sarcasm behind those words to choke a horse.

“I’m considering this interest on those cigarettes you owe me,” Andrew explained as he held up the remains of the sandwich.

“You should be a banker,” Abram told him, his lips twitching as if he wanted to smile. “You’d be good at it, with the percentage you charge.”

“Is that what you do?” Andrew motioned at the computer. “Nicky said something about you translating and a family business.”

And just like that, the smile was gone. “Not exactly.” It didn’t escape Andrew’s attention that Abram didn’t elaborate on what ‘exactly’ he did do.

At that point, a server came over to check up on them, not the most diligent of souls, so Andrew ordered a coffee as well while Abram just shook his head, uncaring that his meal was gone. Andrew tried again, feeling out of sorts at the strange sense of curiosity that filled him – he wasn’t used to the sensation, to, well, to *feeling*. “What type of name is ‘Abram’?”

Abram paused in typing for a moment, his face blank as he stared at the screen. “It’s the name my mother gave me, why?” He looked up at Andrew, face still devoid of emotion, eyes like ice, and Andrew had a blast of realization that there was something much more than physical attraction that was drawing him to this man. “Isn’t that how it goes? We take the names our parents give us?” There was an odd tightness to his voice just then.

“More or less,” Andrew told him, his own voice devoid of emotion.

He noticed how Abram didn’t really ask him any questions back, not really, not unless Andrew asked him something first. He noticed how Abram’s sweater despite the long sleeves also had loose cuffs to it, even as it showed off a rather fit body for someone who ‘translated’ and stuff. How the two times Andrew had seen Abram, he had been carefully covered up from head to toe despite the mostly close fit of his expensive and elegant clothes.

Andrew sat there and drank his coffee, and was halfway through a second one when Abram’s phone rang. Abram picked it up off of the table as his face once more became expressionless, and Andrew watched on as the Brit answered in what sounded to be Chinese. After a few seconds, Abram began to shut down his laptop and collect his things in a leather satchel, then pull on what looked to be a Burberry coat. He nodded once to Andrew then left some money on the table, more than enough to cover the cost of the sandwich and several coffees, and walked toward the door, still talking on the phone.

A different very expensive, very fancy car was waiting for him, a man in another designer suit hurrying to open the door for Abram so he could get in the back. A man who looked as if he would have no problem working as a bouncer back at Eden’s Twilight, despite that designer suit.

It was rare for Andrew to feel anything other than boredom, exhaustion and anger most days, and lately bitterness as well. There was the occasional flash of desire and lust, and pleasure when he allowed himself to act upon them, though not in months. Yet since meeting Abram…. The desire was there, along with a strong sense of interest. Curiosity, because oh was he such an intricate puzzle to figure out. And most dangerous of all… was that want? Andrew attempted to make sense of the strange emotion as he returned back to Nicky’s apartment with his purchases.

Kevin had failed to hold up his end of their bargain, to make Andrew want something. Exy hadn’t done it, had only left him frustrated and unfulfilled. Yet a gorgeous enigma with a British accent threatened to do just that? Was it the hint of danger? The flashes of brokenness? Or the challenge of it all?

Andrew had a couple of months to figure it out.

*******

Abram forced himself not to fidget while Dobrynin and Vikhrov eyed the neat rows of grapes stretching on out front of them as if they had any clue about winemaking. Off to the side, Stuart and the winery’s owner, Batterman, watched the two Russians while smoking.

“So these grapes, they’re good?” Dobrynin asked for the third time, in Russian.

“Yes,” Abram said in the same language. “The land is fertile and the grapes are productive, it’s just the machinery that needs updating. New vats, new buildings, new methods of irrigation and so forth. It’s all in the documentation I put together for you.” That he spent quite a few days working on, only for it not to be read, apparently.

Dobrynin waved that aside. “Bah, I have people do that for me,” he said with a grin. “Just want to know if I’ll get some good wine out of this, yes?”

Abram translated that for Batterman, who nodded while grinning and said there were some cases back at the main building if Dobrynin wanted to test his investment. Dobrynin laughed at the offer, along with Vikhrov, who was staring a bit too much at Abram for his liking.

“Then it looks good to me, and Xue vouches for you guys, he does.” Stuart straightened up at mention of the Chinese ‘investor’ even if he couldn’t understand the rest of what the mobster had said.

“Yeah, he’s really selling this clever little scheme you’ve got going here,” Vikhrov added, his gaze still heavy on Abram. “And on how much of an… asset you’re to the Hatfords. Him and Wei.”

Abram stiffened at mention of Xue Zheng’s second in command, and it looked as if Dobrynin was growing annoyed with his talkative underling. “The young man works hard for his family, you could learn something from him, Kiryl,” Dobrynin said with a hint of reproach before turning toward Stuart and Batterman. “Ah, so now we drink to seal… uhm, what word?” he asked in heavily accented English.

“Deal,” Abram offered.

“Yes, deal!” He laughed as he grabbed onto Vikhrov’s arm and pulled the man along, and Abram didn’t object when his uncle moved to block him from the underling’s view as they walked back to the large barn where Batterman had cases of lush red wine, along with dozens of oak casks and various vats of fermenting wine.

It would take a few more days to settle all of the legal documents to make Dobrynin a partial partner in the winery, which would be handled by other people loyal to the family, and then tie some of his financial network into the winery, which Abram would oversee since that was the whole point of the transaction. Dobrynin didn’t care about wine (well, maybe he did a little, considering how fast he was drinking it down), but as a means to launder money? To diversify his funds and tap into the EU money market?

“So, you said there are other wineries like this, yes?” Dobrynin asked as they went back to their cars, a case of wine in Vikhrov’s hands.

“Yes,” Abram assured the Russian mobster as he brushed aside a stray lock of hair that had slipped free from the tie that held the rest of it back. “Here in Germany, others in France, in Spain and in Australia. We even have some in South America as well that are great investment opportunities, and are branching into distilleries.”

“But nothing in the United States?” Vikhrov asked with a sharp grin, his gaze once more intent on Abram.

“No,” Abram replied without letting any emotion show in his face other than politeness. “We feel the market’s a bit saturated there, and there’s better maneuverability elsewhere. Besides, other than South America, most of our clients don’t want to travel too far to check out their investments.”

“It sounds to me like you have something against the US.”

“Kiryl,” Dobrynin barked, his voice sharp and pleasant smile from the wine tasting now gone, while Stuart’s expression was carefully blank since he couldn’t follow the conversation – at least, couldn’t follow the words. “My apologies, Hatford.”

Abram shrugged as if to say that he wasn’t bothered, but he was grateful that the underling remained in a sullen silence until they got to their cars. Dobrynin, through Abram, told Stuart that they would see each other soon, and the four of them parted ways.

Micha was quick to notice the tension in Stuart’s shoulders and scurried to open the back door of the Aston Martin for them, and Stuart motioned for Abram to get in first. Then he let out a harsh breath as he jerked at the buttons of his coat as if it was constrictive or something while cursing under his breath.

“Okay, so what the hell was going on with that smug prick, eh? The one who looks as if he needs a right thrashing?”

Abram undid the tie holding back his hair and rubbed at his scalp as if that would help with the budding headache. “I’m not sure, really. Just know he kept pushing with stuff.” At his uncle’s narrowed look, he shrugged. “Brought up Xue and Wei, and asked why we’re not working in the States.”

“Fucker,” Stuart snarled as his right hand clenched in a fist. “And Dobrynin? What did he do?”

“He wasn’t happy with Vikhrov.”

“Hmm, good. Xue wouldn’t have sent along trouble, not intentionally.” Abram’s uncle seemed to think about something, his hand still clenched. “Still, I don’t trust that guy – what’s his name?”

“Vikhrov,” Abram answered, an automatic response to provide his uncle with the necessary information. “Kiryl Vikhrov.” He hoped his uncle was correct about the Russian mobster because they couldn’t do much against Xue, but it made sense. The Hatfords had proven their loyalty and value to Xue Zheng time and time again, and it was a profitable ‘partnership’. But that didn’t mean that they could take anything for granted.

“Whatever. I don’t trust him, so be careful around the guy, all right?” Stuart gave Abram a considering look as his fingers unfurled and then tapped against the leather seat between them. “I wish you’d reconsider having someone watch over you.”

Not this again, Abram thought with a sigh. “No, I don’t see why that’s necessary,” he argued. “I’ve got enough of the family’s people around me most of the time, and I can look after myself.” He flexed his left arm, with the blades strapped beneath his clothes, and stared back at his uncle. “I’m not-“

“Don’t say you’re not important enough, you dumb twat,” Stuart said with more than a little exasperation. “Will’s been on me for months to have someone watch over you properly, and it’s not helping, you doing stupid shite like taking the metro instead of having Micha or Joey drive you around.”

Abram hated getting into arguments like this with his uncle, hated feeling like his life was being dictated to him. He’d realized that he was giving up certain things when he’d made that call several years ago, but some days it felt as if he never stopped giving. That things kept being taken away. If he didn’t know that his family also gave up things for him as well….

“I’ll be more careful,” he promised as he gave a slight bow of his head.

“Dammit, Ram, I’m not trying to lock you up or something.” Stuart rubbed at his forehead as if he had a headache himself. “So damn much like your mother, I swear. Just… just watch out for yourself, okay? And if anything else happens, you *are* getting a bodyguard, do you understand?” he said when he dropped his hand. “No arguing, no more shite from you, nothing. I’m not going to hear from you *and* Will, it’s settled.”

“It won’t happen again,” Abram said as he tugged on the sleeves of his trench coat; he wasn’t a senior member of the family like his uncle, or the head of the family like Uncle William. He might be good at numbers and translating stuff, but that was it – he was just a wayward nephew brought back into the fold. Micha dropped Abram at the Arcotel Camino hotel, then continued to take his uncle to Le Méridien Stuttgart.

Once up in his room, Abram removed his coat and then the jacket to his suit along with the light grey cotton shirt beneath that. Uncle Stuart hadn’t said anything about needing him again for the night, which meant that he should be able to relax for a little while. The pants were the next thing to go, so he changed into a pair of light cotton pants and a t-shirt, but left the arm bands on with his knives; he never felt entirely at home in a hotel, even though he spent an increasing amount of time in them anymore. Then he retrieved his laptop from the hotel safe and logged on for a bit of work.

There were several new emails, some from Jamie asking how the Dobrynin deal was going, so he spent a bit of time giving his cousin an update. A request from Zhou to translate some information into Russian and Portuguese Brazilian, which he got to next. A reminder from Aunt Miriam that Uncle William’s sixty-fifth birthday celebration was coming up in another month and she expected *everyone* not traveling to be there for the event, which lead Abram to send a panicked email off to Jamie asking what the hell he was supposed to get a man he barely knew (and suspected barely tolerated him, but he left that part off – maybe he could beg Uncle Stuart to send him to Australia for a couple of weeks, or maybe Shanghai. It would be worth dealing with Wei Jain to not put up with the extended family).

He told Ally to ‘fuck off’, he wasn’t going to help the bastard with French pick-up lines (how was he supposed to even know any?), then checked a few numbers for Sabine. By then it was getting dark outside, and Abram realized that he hadn’t eaten since breakfast. He could order something from room service or go out to one of the nearby restaurants… or he could do something about the box of cigarettes that Joey had picked up for him. He could do something about Andrew.

Knowing that he really shouldn’t, Abram powered down his laptop and put it back in the safe for the night, then went to take a shower. He removed the arm bands and set them on the sink’s counter, and only paid enough attention to his image to make sure that he didn’t need to touch up his roots just yet, that there wasn’t enough auburn showing against the black dye. It bothered him, how he continued to look more and more like his father with each passing day, albeit a more slender, smaller version, how his uncles had to look at the visage of the man who had killed their sister all the time.

Abram threw aside his clothes and stepped into the shower, displeased by his thoughts. He couldn’t change the past, and couldn’t escape it, either. It was there whenever he looked in the mirror, was there whenever he removed his clothes and laid bare the scars that covered his torso; the cuts and burns inflicted by his own father, by the people Nathan Wesninski sent after his son and wife in an effort to drag them back when they dared to run away. Though not all of the wounds could be blamed upon the Butcher of Baltimore: Abram ran the washcloth lightly over the scar tissue around his wrists, scars he did his best to hide from Stuart.

Once he was clean, he stepped out of the shower and dried off, running a towel over his hair then combing it out of his face. He slipped back on the arm bands then got dressed, picking out a pair of jeans and a soft sweater that was thick enough to hide the sleeve of red poppies tattooed on his right bicep and the Hatford coat of arms on his upper left chest. A quick check to make sure that he could access the knives without any trouble as well as that the sleeves hid both the bands and his scars, and Abram stepped into a pair of worn but comfortable ankle boots before grabbing a leather jacket, his phone, wallet and the box of cigarettes which Joey had picked up earlier that day; he’d asked the man to grab just a pack, but Joey tended to go overboard on things like that. Probably figured it would save him time and that Abram was switching brands or something.

Before he could reconsider what he was doing, Abram was out the door and headed to the metro station which would take him to the bar where Andrew Minyard would be – where Abram Hatford shouldn’t be, really. Not considering who Abram Hatford had been once upon a time.

Abram had left so much behind on that beach in California several years ago, when he’d set afire the latest car he and his mother had stolen with his mother’s body inside of it, only to pull her half-burnt corpse from it hours later, the sun starting to light up the very edges of the sky out over the ocean. He’d buried her in the grave he’d dug with his own hands in that rough sand, then burned his last ties to the United States, had burned the binder with the list of contacts his mother had given him. He’d also burned any hopes he’d had of one day of having some sort of normal life, of maybe being free of the life of crime that was sunk into both sides of his blood. Had given up on his dreams of Exy once and for all.

Because as they’d fled from Washington, his mother slowly dying all the while because of the vicious blows his father had dealt her, she’d finally told Abram – had told Nathaniel – the truth. Had told him why they’d fled Nathan Wesninski in the first place, about how Nathaniel had been promised to the Moriyamas, about that awful day at Castle Evermore when he’d believed he was just playing Exy with Kevin Day and Riko Moriyama as an escape from Baltimore or something. As a treat. Not an audition to see if he was good enough for Tetsuji Moriyama, to be handed over as an asset or to be killed as a failure.

So his mother had grabbed him, five million dollars from his father – from the Moriyamas, since his father worked for them – and ran. And with her dead, Nathaniel hadn’t seen any reason to keep running by himself, not when he knew exactly what he was running from, and he had called his uncle. Within twenty-four hours he was in England, was somewhere safe, was out of the Moriyamas’ reach. Or so they had thought. Uncle Stuart had tried to give him a fresh start, had tried to give him time to grieve and figure out what he was going to do, to honor his sister’s wishes and enrolled Nathaniel in school… only it hadn’t worked out so well. Standing on the metro, wary of the people around them, Abram flexed his wrists as he pushed aside that memory. No, it became clear that there was only one choice for Nathaniel, and that was to accept his mother’s family and their protection, to become a Hatford. To become Abram Hatford.

No more dreams of Exy. No more chance of a normal life, but no more running. It… it worked out. He’d lost his mother, but he’d found support in Uncle Stuart, for all of his gruffness and rough affection. Abram had floundered at first, uncertain what he could offer his mother’s kin, but he’d always been good at languages and math had been his favorite subject in school whenever he could attend. It hadn’t taken long for the family to figure out how to put both of those talents to use, especially when Abram didn’t have much to do but learn. Didn’t want to do much of anything but learn, after the Romanians.

So why was he going out to a bar by himself, when he could back at the hotel, away from people, away from crowds and noise and people touching him, people looking at him and… and…. Yeah. Because he’d been at the bar waiting for Uncle Stuart the one night and seen Nicky Klose. Seen Nicky **Hemmick,** and even if it was years later, even if he’d given up on the old obsession, he’d felt a bit of thrill at being able to go up to the bar and chat with a Palmetto State Fox (even if the man wasn’t that great of a backliner). Because Nicky Klose had played with Kevin Day, one of the best strikers out there. Abram knew the truth about Day, knew he was a puppet for the Moriyamas, knew that he’d never be the best anymore, not after what Riko had done to him, but enough of an Exy fan remained inside of Abram that he still enjoyed talking to Nicky. There was also the fact that Nicky Klose was one of the nicest people he’d ever met, so friendly and easy-going and open. Considering that Abram dealt with criminals on a daily basis… yeah, it was refreshing to hang out a few nights with the former backliner whenever he was in Stuttgart.

So if it was a bit of a thrill to spend time with Nicky Klose… it was even more so to talk with Andrew Minyard, who had been good enough to go professional, who had been the only person so far to turn down the Ravens when recruited by the team, who - according to the Hatford’s sources, and they had every reason to keep up on the Moriyamas – had been the reason why Kevin Day had managed to stay out of the Moriyama’s clutches for almost five years. At least until Andrew had graduated from PSU and then turned down all of the professional Exy contracts offered to him, and then Kevin Day had lost whatever bit of spine he’d possessed soon afterward, only to sign with the same professional team as Riko Moriyama. Abram hadn’t been able to resist going up to Andrew Minyard and asking for a cigarette, merely wanting to talk to him for a few minutes, to see what it was about the man to draw in Kevin Day, to make Nicky talk about his cousin in such an awed manner. Though really, he should have. Oh, would Uncle Stuart have something to say about him and his little ‘obsession’.

He still wasn’t certain what it was about the man, other than the fact that Andrew certainly didn’t give a damn about what anyone thought. That he didn’t care if he drove anyone away with his actions or words. Yet Abram could respect that, because it wasn’t as if the man was going out of his way to be obnoxious, he was just being himself. After wearing so many masks, after sacrificing so much of himself to others… Abram could appreciate that. Could envy it, even if it annoyed him at times.

He got off at the station closest to the bar and walked along the narrow streets, enjoying the cool air and the warm glow of the lights around him. The bar was about half-full when he got there, so it was easy to spot Nicky and Andrew. Well, it was easy to spot Erik Klose, and then the others gathered around him.

Abram went up to the bar and waited a moment for an older couple to leave before stepping forward, his right hand raised a little in acknowledgement of the greetings that Erik, Nicky and a couple of others called out to him. Andrew merely gave him a slight nod, in no manner surprised to see him.

“You finish your business for the day?”

“Yes,” Abram said while he waved to the bartender. “What about you? Busy day lounging around? Find anyone else to entrap with outrageous interest rates? Speaking of which.” He handed over the box of cigarettes tucked against his left side. “I hope that’s enough.”

Andrew gave him a cool, assessing look as he accepted the box. “Just how well does translating shit pay?” the American asked as he tapped the long end of the box against the bar’s polished wood surface.

Abram gave him a casual shrug in return then told the bartender that he’d like a glass of Trollinger red and the fried fish special. When he found Andrew still staring at him, he just shook his head. “It pays the bills.” The family took care of everything for him so he wasn’t concerned about money. Wasn’t concerned about much, to be honest, other than letting Stuart down.

“Must be some impressive bills considering the outfits you wear,” Andrew said with a slight sneer. “I love how people who make money always say shit like that.” He scoffed as he waved Abram aside as if he was an annoyance.

That was a bit much, wasn’t it? “So what’s your issue with money? That you don’t make enough? Upset with people who have more?” Abram asked as he leaned against the bar. “How is any of that my fault?” He didn’t ask Stuart or Jamie or anyone else in the family to buy him expensive clothes, had tried to make them *not* do that the first year or two. Then he got tired of everyone throwing out his ‘rags’ and not having anything to wear, of hearing the lectures on how the Hatfords had an image to uphold and he wouldn’t shame the family with his ratty clothes.

It had taken some getting used to, no longer wearing the too-large, cheap clothes he’d always used to blend in, until he realized that the suits and the expensive sweaters and the tailored trench coats made him merge among all of the other Hatfords and their employees, to fade away among them.

Andrew scoffed again, this time at the questions. “That would assume I care,” he told Abram while he propped his chin up on his hand, his expression oh so bored. “No, it’s annoying when rich shits like you always say things like that, just proves you have no fucking clue.”

The bartender returned with Abram’s glass of wine, and he shook his head as he picked it up. “Yeah, no fucking clue at all.” No idea what it felt like living in cheap motels and hostels because they only had so much money until his mother could reach her next contact and access the accounts where she’d stashed the millions she’d stolen from her husband – millions that was steadily being eaten into for new passports, new identities and plane tickets so it couldn’t be spent on ‘frivolous’ things like new clothes when second-hand stores were fine. No idea what it felt like to go to sleep hungry because it was too dangerous to risk leaving the safe house for the night, even to run out for something to eat.

No idea what it felt like to grow up in a lavish house yet to live in fear, to hate the sight of it because returning to it meant nothing but pain and fear and more scars. Because it wasn’t a home, it could never be a home, but with each passing day you realized it might very well be your grave.

Abram drained the glass of wine in a few steady swallows, his appetite gone as well as his desire for company. “We should all be so lucky to so clueless,” he told Andrew as he pulled some money out of his wallet – money he had because of Uncle Stuart. Money that was there because Abram never knew when he might have to pick up and run, not because he wanted to impress anyone, not because he tended to buy things – he was lucky if it got spent on the occasional meal or drink out.

He should know better by now that stepping outside of the life he’d built for himself was a mistake; it was too different a world, too foreign. “You got your cigarette back, plus interest, so I think we’re finished.” He tipped an imaginary hat at Andrew Minyard and set the cash down on the bar before moving away.

He heard Nicky call out his name, but he ignored it as he headed for the door, which he had partially open when he felt a tug on the sleeve of his jacket. Abram jerked his arm free as he turned around and forced himself not to pull a knife. “Don’t,” he warned, displeased at being touched, and found that Andrew had snuck up on him. “What do you want?”

“Don’t you rich guys believe in eating?” Andrew asked as he motioned back at the bar. “It a new thing, to order food and just leave it there? Rather wasteful.”

“Consider it another meal on me,” Abram told him. “British hospitality.”

Andrew’s thick brows drew together. “I don’t like owing people anything.”

“Funny, considering how you seem to enjoy making them owe you things.” Abram waved him away, unwilling to talk any longer, to be in the bar any longer. “Not my concern, good night.” He continued on his way, and grew irate when Andrew followed him. “What now?”

He got a blank look in response. “I’m walking.” Andrew made it sound like he was an idiot for asking the question.

“Yes, I can see that,” Abram gritted out. “Why?”

“To have a cigarette.” Andrew pulled his pack out of a pocket in the black jacket he was wearing and shook out one. “No smoking in the bar.”

“Then stand outside the bar,” Abram told him. “Back there. That bar.”

“But walking is good exercise,” Andrew countered without any emotion, then paused to light one up. “You seem annoyed, probably low blood sugar.”

“I think it’s more due to a lack of manners.” Abram ran his right hand over his hair. “I left the bar so I could be alone, you know.”

Andrew shrugged, still displaying an utter lack of emotion – if he was at all smug about things, then Abram would have an excuse to punch him or yell. “That’s your problem, not mine.”

Abram managed to bite his tongue for about a block. “Are you this annoying with everyone, or am I special?”

Andrew seemed to consider the question for a moment. “Probably the first.”

“Oh, joy, I was afraid it was the latter,” Abram said as he undid the tie holding back his hair so he could scrub at his scalp; he sighed in relief after a moment and looked forward to just stretching out in bed when he returned to the hotel room. If he got an early night’s sleep, he could wake up, do some work and then put in a few miles on the treadmill at the gym before it got too busy, then be ready for whatever running around that Stuart needed done.

“You don’t add up.”

“Hmm?” Abram frowned, startled from his thoughts by that weird statement, and looked over at Andrew to find the man staring at him. He didn’t usually like people staring at him, so it was odd that Andrew doing so hadn’t made him nervous or feel self-conscious. Perhaps because it was done in such a reserved, clinical manner. “I don’t what?”

“You don’t add up,” Andrew repeated as he jabbed two fingers holding a cigarette between them at Abram. “There’s something off about you.”

If it wasn’t so true, Abram would be offended. As it was, he was mildly miffed that Andrew could pick up on it so easily. “It’s not polite to point, or to point out people’s faults, you know.”

Andrew snorted in derision, twin plumes of smoke rolling from his nostrils as if he was some sort of blond, humanized dragon. A small, blond, humanized dragon. The mental image amused Abram more than it should. “Who’s the stereotype now, huh? You always so polite and well-mannered? Even when you’re stabbing someone?”

The question almost made Abram trip. “I beg your pardon? What’s stabbing got to do with anything?”

“Like I said, you don’t add up.” Andrew cast a loaded look toward Abram’s right wrist. “But I’ll figure you out. For some reason you seem worth the interest.”

Abram didn’t know what to say to that, which wasn’t good. He latched on to the fact that they were near the metro station and ran his right hand through his hair, which was once again falling onto his face. “It’s not always a good thing, to be so curious,” he warned as he stepped toward the metro entrance.

“Always so damn polite,” Andrew complained as he waved Abram aside. “Try making a threat without being so British, will you?” Before his arm lowered, Abram took note of the loose sleeve, of the hint of darkness on the pale skin, and wondered if he’d allowed his infatuation with the man to blind him to the potential threat earlier. Not good, Abram, he chided himself.

No wonder Andrew had spotted another knife wielder; Abram debated telling Stuart, but knew his uncle would be furious if he did – at him for not noticing sooner and at Andrew since the man had, albeit rather distant, Moriyama ties. Abram might have been a bit slow to pick up on the weapons, but he didn’t believe that Andrew was on the yakuza family’s payroll. No, best to just keep quiet and mark this down as a lesson to improve his observation skills.

Skills which normally were rather good, so how had Andrew gotten past his guard like that? Abram pondered it the entire way back to the hotel, and didn’t come up with much of an answer.

*******

Andrew didn’t see Abram the night after the walk to the subway station, which led him to wonder if he had pushed too far with the stabbing comment. Then he decided if the British man was so easily spooked, that maybe he wasn’t worthy of Andrew’s interest – Andrew had wasted enough time on cowards, after all. On people who couldn’t grow their own spine, no matter how much you pushed and cajoled and beat up others for them. All it got you was bruised fists and broken promises and little else to show for it in the end.

He was back at the bar with Nicky and Erik, having some whiskey and debating if he wanted to stick around in Germany for a few more weeks or just move on when Abram came in, dressed in those damn expensive clothes of his and appearing worn out. He sidled up to the bar next to Andrew and ordered a glass of wine while giving Nicky a little wave.

“Is translating that exhausting?”

“It can be,” Abram remarked as he ran a hand over his slicked back hair. “When it seems I’m the only one able to do a damn bit of work.”

Andrew thought about that for a moment. “How many languages do you speak? There’s four that I’ve heard.”

Abram gave the bartender a grateful smile when his wine was dropped off. “More than that,” was his evasive answer, which earned him a flat look from Andrew. “Why didn’t you join a professional Exy team?” Abram countered, which turned Andrew’s flat look into a displeased one.

It was clear that they weren’t going to do the ‘I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours’ thing. “So you know about the Exy stuff?”

“It’s difficult not to,” Abram answered as he turned around to lean his back against the bar, the wine glass held cradled in his left hand, between his long fingers. “Nicky talks about it a lot, about how you, your brother and he played at Palmetto State with the ‘great’ Kevin Day.” Andrew found it interesting how there was a slight mocking note to Kevin’s name, considering how Kevin was still considered one of the top strikers out there.

“Nicky always did talk too much,” Andrew complained.

“Yes, especially when he’s had a few drinks in him.” Abram looked over at Andrew’s cousin, who currently was talking the ear off of one of his coworkers. “I give it five minutes before the man comes up with an excuse to make his escape.”

“Sooner than that, Nicky’s had him pinned for ten minutes already. I’m surprised Erik hasn’t rescued the guy already.” Still, it was amusing to see others suffer, after Andrew had put up with his cousin for all those years.

Abram hummed a little before sipping his wine. “I think that’s because Erik’s currently under siege himself – Jürgen over there is known to – oh bloody hell,” he cursed in a rather fervent manner as he ducked down a bit, not that he was that tall to begin with. “ **Dammit**.” He glared as he set his wine on the bar then fumbled with his wallet to pull out some money – too much for the wine, really, but he seemed to just grab something and slap it down.

While he did that, Andrew craned his head up and around to see what had set Abram off, and recognized the one Russian guy from a few days ago, the younger one. He had just entered the bar and seemed to be looking for someone – Andrew had the suspicion it was a certain well-dressed British guy. “What, you don’t want to run into this asshole?”

“ **No** ,” Abram hissed. “Now if you’ll excuse me, good night.” Still hunched over, he managed to slip through the crowd toward the back of the bar, heading for what Andrew knew from previous visits was the back exit. Meanwhile, the Russian guy meandered through the bar for several minutes before heading out the front door.

Now hadn’t that been curious? Andrew used the money Abram had set down to buy himself a few more glasses of whiskey, since waste not, want not, and spent the night wondering just how much trouble a ‘translator’ could get himself into. A translator who felt the need to arm himself with knives, that was.

It only got that much more interesting the next night when Andrew returned to the bar, sans Nicky and Erik, to find Abram there with his uncle and both Russians. The four were seated at a corner table with several drinks in front of them, and the majority of them didn’t appear very happy at the moment. Abram’s face was too blank at the moment, his uncle was glaring at the younger Russian who was staring at Abram, and the older Russian kept shaking his head. Abram was doing an awful lot of talking, with the occasional remark from his uncle and the older Russian.

After about half an hour, the four of them got up to leave, and Andrew noticed that Abram’s uncle shot a look his way as they walked to the door. The man’s expression was still rather disgruntled, and it didn’t improve when Andrew raised his glass in a slight salute.

Abram wasn’t at the bar the next night, but the following day when Andrew was out doing some shopping (and getting the hell out of the apartment before he killed Nicky), he caught sight of the British man being escorted around by two well-dressed and very large men. They towered over Abram by a foot, yet Andrew noticed the way that Abram carried himself, the looseness of his limbs and the lightness of his walk, and knew that anyone who mistook Abram for an easy target would regret it very much.

There was more whiskey the next night, while he listened to some idiot argue about how Americans were too lazy to use public transportation (he would like to see that person try to get around on a fucking bus outside of a major city, let alone some non-existent train or subway system) when Abram came into the bar. For once he seemed to be ‘slumming’ it, wearing a hooded sweatshirt over his jeans and worn but well-made boots.

“Okay, don’t tell me that’s some sort of clever disguise,” Andrew said in disgust. “That’s just pathetic. No wonder we kicked your asses centuries ago.”

Abram gave him a narrowed look as he approached the bar. “Go to hell,” he snapped. “Why I bother with a prat like you, I’ve no clue.”

Andrew had the feeling that he’d just been insulted. “Careful there, Guv’ner, your knickers are getting all in a twist. Can’t have that.”

“I’m not Australian,” Abram sighed as he ran the fingers of his right hand through his loose hair. “Keep your stereotypes straight, dammit.”

“Some people are just too easy to rile up.” He motioned to the bartender for another whiskey and watched while Abram ran both hands through his hair as if attempting to rein in his temper. “So rough day at work? Fuck up tenses or something? Get a verb wrong?”

“Oh, people must have just loved firing shots off at you, didn’t they?” Abram asked as he dropped his hands. “Did they ever do it when you were outside the goal? You know, just ‘conveniently’ forget and all? I can so see it happening.”

Andrew gave the bastard the finger, even if these verbal sparring sessions were becoming the highlight of his day.

They spent the next couple of hours sniping back and forth at each other, and Andrew noticed how the tension slowly eased from Abram’s lean frame as time passed and he got a glass or two wine in him. He didn’t know if the man was just a lightweight and knew his limits or refused to allow himself to lose too much control – he had a feeling it was more the latter.

Nicky and Erik left at some point since they had to go to work in the morning, while Andrew and Abram were debating who could survive a zombie apocalypse better – Great Britain or America. Andrew argued in favor of resources, Abram in isolation, and it went downhill from there.  Though to be fair, it was one of the better debates Andrew had on the topic in years.

They were down to debating population sizes when Abram’s phone chimed and, after checking it, he sighed. “I really should be going. There’s a few things I need to do tomorrow.”

Andrew looked around and was a bit surprised to see how empty the bar was – it was rare that he spent so much time talking to someone, and to the point that he lost track of the time. “Another hard day of politely telling people to go fuck themselves in a few different languages?”

Abram chuckled a little at that as he settled his tab. “Something like that. I’d say it’s the perfect job for you, except for the whole ‘politely’ thing.”

“I do believe that I should be offended right now,” Andrew said with an affected sniff as he put down some money himself to pay for the whiskeys.

“If you’re only **now** becoming offended, you haven’t been paying attention much to our conversation tonight,” Abram informed him with a sly smile, one that took away the shadows in his pale eyes and made Andrew wonder yet again what would happen if he asked the man to a motel one of these nights. If maybe Abram’s politeness and restraint would translate well into following instructions, and Andrew could vent the rare and lingering desire that flared in him whenever Abram laughed or smiled or tucked back a wavy lock of black hair.

Except Abram didn’t seem to send out any of the right signals, didn’t pick up on the one or two little innuendos Andrew had slipped into their conversations, didn’t allow Andrew – or anyone, really – close enough for a lingering touch, didn’t do any suggestive looks. Andrew was beginning to suspect that the man was Ace or something, because he seemed utterly oblivious to most people’s interest in him, the couple of times when Andrew had seen someone be blatant about it, Abram had **politely** turned them down. The bastard used manners as a weapon of sorts, to disarm his attacker and leave them unable to mount a proper counter-attack because it just wouldn’t be **right**.

Underhanded as shit, but pretty brilliant. That seemed to sum up Abram pretty well, Andrew thought as he pulled on his jacket to follow Abram out the door. “Are you stalking me again?”

“Your stop’s mostly on the way back to Nicky’s place, and your ugly face will scare away any muggers,” Andrew argued as he stepped outside with Abram and lit a cigarette as he walked, the first draw of smoke-laden air soothing to his nerves after a couple of hours without any nicotine and all the time spent inside the bar. Abram slanted him a knowing look as he shook out a cigarette of his own, and did that weird thing where he only inhaled enough to start the stick burning and then held it cupped near his face so he could breathe in the trails of smoke.

“So damn odd,” Andrew murmured as they strolled through the mostly empty streets.

“Pot, kettle, black,” Abram said, his tone amused as he stared straight ahead.

That prompted a semi-amused snort from Andrew; not many people willingly grouped themselves with him in any manner. “That’s a waste of a decent cigarette, you know.”

“What does it matter, if it’s not yours?” Abram asked.

“It’s the principle of the thing.”

That earned him a slight quirk of the Brit’s lips. “Somehow I don’t think it’s often, you having anything to do with ‘principles’.”

Andrew flicked ash on the bastard in response for that bit of insight. “Those fancy manners of yours aren’t going to save you from getting your ass kicked by me, you know.” He wondered, from time to time, what it would be like to fight the man. Abram had the advantage of reach on him, if not by much, but lacked Andrew’s muscles. It could be interesting. “Do you apologize for getting your blood all over someone’s fists as they beat you into the ground?”

“No, but I’m oh so sorry for slicing their throat open,” Abram admitted with a smile that Andrew found a bit chilling. It was around then that he noticed that they were taking a back way to the train station, which made him raise an eyebrow as he looked around then at Abram, who shrugged. “What, you don’t appreciate the scenic route?”

“Still having problems with that one Russian fellow?” He knew he was right when all Abram did was shrug again. “Why don’t you just sic one of those friends of yours on him, the guys in the fancy suits who look like walking steroid advertisements?”

Abram made a tsk’ing sound as he flicked aside his cigarette. “Violence doesn’t solve everything, you know,” he said, his lilting voice dripping with sarcasm.

The flat look Andrew gave him in return made him huff, and they walked about half a block in silence.

“I’ll probably be taking off in another day or two,” Abram said as he shoved his hands into the pockets of his jeans. “Just about wrapped up the business here.”

“Ah.” Andrew thought about that, and how the man avoided answering any real questions when they were posed to him. Most likely wouldn’t be worth it to ask if he’d be back any time soon, even if Abram would know. Best to just figure out where to move on to next and leave the man as an unanswered mystery, have him as a nagging sensation in the back of Andrew’s mind. It would be annoying… but it would be something different, maybe help break up the exhaustion and anger and bitterness. Maybe that was what he needed.

“Well, you’re not the first man to run fleeing from Nicky’s incessant yapping,” Andrew said as they came up to a branch in the small, narrow street, and beside him, Abram went stiff; three figures stepped forward from a shop’s shadowed alcove, and as Andrew watched, another two approached from the left.

He recognized one of them, the Russian who was obsessed with Abram, dressed in dark clothes and smiling as if very pleased while he called out something to Abram. Andrew didn’t speak Russian, but he recognized one word in all of that which put him on guard immediately – Moriyama.

Whatever was said made Abram’s expression go blank as he stood there with his hands loose at his side. “Andrew, I believe it would be a very good time for you to leave now.”

“Probably,” Andrew agreed as he eyed the men circling around them – definitely brawlers, possibly armed. “But not happening.” Not when they’d said the magic word. Oh yes, Abram was proving to be very interesting indeed.

Abram sighed as if in disappointment, then called out something in Russian. Whatever he said, it wiped the smile off of the face of the one guy, and before Andrew could blink, Abram was moving forward, right at the man with a flash of silver in his hands. Huh, fast bastard, Andrew had the time to think, and then he was swinging his fists at some Russian prick almost twice his size who came rushing at him. Why did they always think that just because he was short, he was an easy target? Andrew ducked beneath a meaty fist and hit him hard in the left kidney, then followed it up with a punch to the throat. One guy down, he spun around just in time to dodge another bastard, this one with a knife in his hand.

Well, if he wanted to play that way…. Andrew pulled one of his own, and noticed that two of the other Russians were already down, and Abram was in the middle of taking out a third. Nearly distracted by the sight of Abram slipping beneath the guard of the guy trying to pin him against the wall, Andrew had to backpedal out of reach before he was sliced across the chest then kicked the bastard he was fighting away about a foot or two before rushing in to slash at his face to blind him. While the guy yelped in pain, he flipped the knife in his grip and brought it across the bastard’s exposed throat.

Andrew watched the man crumple to the ground, then jerked to the side when he heard Abram choke out his name; he caught a glimpse of the guy he’d knocked down earlier lurch toward him with something in his hand and lashed out with his knife, the blade catching on bone. As he punched the man in the side of the head with his left hand, Abram sidled up and jammed a knife into the man’s upper right thigh before pulling him aside.

“Dammit.” The curse came out quiet but heartfelt as Abram looked around as if searching for something, but there wasn’t anything but five men scattered about the cobblestone street, either dead or bleeding out. Meanwhile, Andrew stood there breathing in and out with blood on his hands and an oddly serene air to him now that the violence was done. He didn’t feel a sense of guilt or panic, just felt a little tired as the adrenalin rush started to fade away. Tired and curious and more alive than he had in years. Funny, how someone trying to kill you did that.

He stood there for a few seconds as if waiting for someone to yell at him, for the sounds of sirens or screams or… or something, because in the past something bad always happened when he had defended himself or stood up or shit like this had happened… and nothing. When Abram bent down to wipe his hands and knife on the coat of the one Russian who had started the mess, Andrew stirred and took that as a sign to do the same with the corpse nearest him; it took a little effort to find a clean bit of material, because yeah, throat wounds bled out like a bitch.

“What was that about?” he asked as Abram then began to riffle through the coat of the Russian who had spoken to him, the one who had tried to track him down and had met with him and his uncle. “What did he want with you?”

Abram ignored the questions as he pulled out the man’s wallet, and Andrew noticed that the man was carrying a gun. That surprised him, and he wondered why the prick hadn’t pulled it, but surmised that it would have been too loud, would have drawn too much attention if bullets had been fired. When Abram moved on to the next body, he spoke up again. “How are you involved with the Moriyamas?”

That got a reaction; Abram’s shoulders tensed beneath his bloody sweatshirt and he paused before he moved on to the next dead Russian. “You don’t need to know that.” He spoke in a blank tone, with no emotion whatsoever.

Oh to hell with that. Andrew moved to get in Abram’s way when he was ready to pick clean the next body. “I just helped you kill a couple of guys, so yes, I think I do need to know,” he said with a cold smile.

Abram answered him with that chilling smile from before. “No, you do **not.** ” He began pull money out of the stolen wallets then shoved it at Andrew, who refused to accept it. “All you need to know is that remaining here will be a big mistake, so take this money and get on the first plane back to the States.”

“Like hell I will,” Andrew told him while he attempted to shove the money back, only for Abram’s hand to refuse to budge.

“Like hell you won’t,” the Brit said in an almost personable tone, that same cruel smile still on his lips. “Because if you don’t, you’ll be dead before morning. No, Canada probably will be better,” he continued while Andrew stared at him. “Toronto should be lovely this time of year, or there’s Vancouver.”

“You’re not serious.”  Andrew glared as more money was shoved at him. “What, you kill a few people together and then that’s it, go fuck off? Where’s the commitment?”

The smile finally slipped away, to be replaced by exasperation. “This isn’t a joke, dammit! They’ll kill you, you prat!”

“Who, those guys’ friends?” Andrew waved a bloody hand toward the dead bodies behind him.

“No, not them.” Abram gave him a level look as he shoved the money into the pockets of Andrew’s jacket. “No more questions, just go.”

“Or?”

“Or nothing. You don’t understand what this is,” Abram told him in a condescending tone as he pulled out a phone. “In less than twenty minutes, this mess is going to be well on its way to cleaned up. Any video footage, any witnesses – any record will vanish. Any problems will vanish.” Abram nodded to him. “Do you know what you are?”

“Bigger than a breadbox but smaller than a house?” Andrew drawled as he reached out to finish wiping his hands clean on Abram’s sweatshirt.

Abram’s lips twisted in outright annoyance. “I’d like to say that I’d miss you, but then I’m sure I can just stub my toe against the bloody wall and I’ll feel much the same. Goodbye, Andrew. Get on the damn plane or die, it’s up to you now.” He gave a slight wave as he tapped on the phone, clearly making a call as he turned to walk away.

Andrew heard him talk to someone named ‘Micha’, his voice growing faint the further away he got, and decided that it might be best to have a change of scenery – it was beginning to become a bit ripe just there at the moment. He backtracked a few blocks, mindful to avoid attention because of the state of his clothes, to a small fountain where he washed off his hands better, as well as the knife he’d used, before pulling out the money that Abram had shoved into his pockets.

Hmm, apparently it paid to be a Russian gangster or whatever those assholes had been, considering the nice stack of euros he’d been given. Andrew tapped his fingers against the wad of money before he shoved it into the back pocket of his jeans, then removed his bloody jacket. After emptying out its pockets, he then threw it away in the next trash bin he found, where he pushed the ruined jacket deep inside.

There was a bit of a chill in the air, but if Abram could walk around in just a sweatshirt, Andrew certainly wasn’t going to complain. Once that was done, he lit a cigarette and headed toward a busier part of the city while he figured out what he was going to do.

From what Abram had said, it was safe to assume that he ‘translated’ for a powerful crime organization. It was probably also safe to assume that his uncle was a part of it, considering that the man had associated with the Russians on several occasions. Not to mention that Nicky said that Abram worked for his uncle.

So did Andrew do the wise thing and take the money, go pack his bags and return home? Or pay O Canada a visit like Abram had suggested? Hmm, Andrew had never done the ‘run and hide thing’ very well. Or the wise thing. He wasn’t much on taking anyone’s advice, to be honest.

There was the simple fact that tonight had been the first time in much too long that he’d felt alive, that he’d been surprised, that he hadn’t felt as if he was just going through some rote motions. That people had died so he could feel this way… didn’t really bother him. They would have killed him without any pause, that much had been clear, and somehow he doubted that Abram would have been happy if things had turned out differently. Not with the Moriyamas involved.

There was that name again – Moriyama. Andrew had thought he’d left that behind at Palmetto State when he’d walked away from Kevin Day, when he’d been offered the pro contracts for Exy and realized that he didn’t care for any of them, that the prospect of playing at a professional level didn’t excite him after all, that it didn’t push him to so much as get out of bed each day. Kevin had promised him something to live for, something to make him feel alive… and had failed to come through in the end.

But this? Andrew glanced at the bruised knuckles holding the lit cigarette, at the slight tremble in his hand not from exhaustion but the rare pulse of excitement. There was something here, was possibility and the hope for more violence and a challenge. All things he hadn’t had in much too long.

And perhaps some answers, too, in regards to a certain British mystery.

Andrew pulled out his phone to send a text to Nicky that he wouldn’t be back that night, in case his cousin hadn’t figured it out, then went looking for a hotel. He’d need to get some rest, because tomorrow was going to be a busy day.

*******


	2. all the king's men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so, yeah. About the non-con rating. Here's my thoughts on that. You're basically getting to that in this chapter. Except... well, it pretty much deals with things in the past. There's Andrew's past, and as you see in this chapter due to vague references (if you didn't pick it up on the last chapter), there's things in Neil/Abram's past that we're never going to get explicit about (probably just along things in this chapter, and as some point he'll talk about it, but again, nothing too explicit).
> 
> And there's dubious consent (again, NOT EXPLICIT). It's talked about, but it's never shown. And to one character, they don't really know that it's that dubious (maybe they should know, but they don't - if you want to know more, ask). It'll get addressed and it's part of the plot, but yeah. So let me know your thoughts. 
> 
> And that's the warning, that's why it's rated why it is, it's not going to be anything explicit, stuff below is most likely as bad as it's going to get (which, trauma-wise, still not good). But should it be rated that way?
> 
> Oh, and yeah, violence-wise? Bad things happen in this chapter. Not to our boys, but there's some dark stuff. It's a dark fic, and the boys aren't being all warm and fluffy.
> 
> Uhm... I think that's it for the warnings? If you're still with me, I hope you enjoy it! (I feel like such a a bad, BAD person right now)  
> *******

*******

It took Andrew two days to track down Abram’s uncle – he just had the name ‘Hatford’ and the fancy car to go by, and the impression that the man wouldn’t be staying at some cheap hotel. So on the second day after telling Nicky to stop bothering him with annoying texts and calls, hitting various high-end hotels and slipping the valets a few of those euros which Abram had given him to ask about expensive Aston Martins, he found the bastard at the Le Méridien Stuttgart.

Andrew was enjoying a high-end whiskey at the bar in the lobby when Abram’s uncle strolled in that afternoon with some muscle at his side and appearing a bit frustrated at something. When Andrew stepped forward so the man could see him, his grey eyes narrowed and he waved aside the muscle after just a moment’s pause before coming into the bar.

“Well, you’re an interesting little prick, aren’t you?” he called out in English while motioning to one of the private booths off to the side. “Andrew Minyard.  Or do you prefer ‘Doe’?”

Somehow, Andrew wasn’t surprised that the man knew who he was. Undaunted, he picked up his drink and backpack, and joined the man in the booth, sitting on the far side. “And you are?”

“Do you really have no clue?” the older man asked him as he unbuttoned the coat to his expensive, dark blue suit.

“I know you’re a Hatford, but Abram wasn’t forthcoming with your first name,” Andrew admitted.

“Nice to know the boy kept quiet about some things,” the man huffed. “Stuart Hatford,” he said with a slight incline of his head. He didn’t say anything else as a young woman came over to see if he wanted something to drink, and he ordered a bourbon while Andrew got another whiskey.

Stuart eyed him for a few seconds after that. “So what the hell possessed you to show up here, eh? After Abram told you to get the hell out of town? You’re supposed to be smart enough to get the hint.”

Andrew paused to finish off his current drink. “That sounds as if you know a bit about me.” He had to wonder just how powerful these Hatfords were, if they were anything like the Moriyamas.

Stuart’s smile just then wasn’t anything like Abram’s from the other night, but it had a sharp, cruel edge to it none-the-less. “You think I’m going to let a little prick connected to the Moriyamas anywhere near my nephew without knowing _everything_ about him, hmm? I know how much you’ve got in your bank account, your last health check-up, the fact that you didn’t so much quit your last job as left before you got fired because you beat up some chav harassing a coworker.”

He paused again as the server returned with their drinks, and gave the young woman a slight nod before he leaned over the table once she left. “What I don’t get is what you’re doing here, when you should know enough about how this shite works, yeah? Why you didn’t run.”

Andrew took a sip of his new drink before he put it aside. “Because you just said the magic word.” He stared at Stuart and gave a slight smile. “’Moriyama’. I want to know how Abram’s involved with them, why I helped clean up a mess the other night because of them.”

That earned him another huff. “None of your damn business.”

“Funny, that was Abram’s response, too.” Andrew’s eyes narrowed. “I spent over four years of my life dealing with their shit, and now they’re back in it. I want to know why.”

“They’re back in it because Abram didn’t use his fucking head,” Stuart said with a bit of heat when he picked up his glass. “Never should have talked to you. They weren’t there for you.”

“Funny, because they sure seemed happy to –“ Andrew remembered that they weren’t in private. “It wasn’t a case of live and let live, let’s put it that way.”

Things were quiet at the table for a moment, before Stuart clicked his tongue and had some of his fancy bourbon. “So what the hell is it you want, eh? Other than to know about the Moriyamas. Seems a damn fool thing to risk your life about, yeah?”

Andrew paused to think about it. At first, he’d been focused on finding Abram’s uncle – Stuart – so he could get information about the Moriyamas. But the longer the search had dragged on, the more he’d realized he hadn’t much of a plan, had much of anything anymore. That the other night had been the first time he’d felt alive in… well, he couldn’t remember when. “Are you or are you not aligned with the Moriyamas?”

Stuart gave him a look as if he was insane. “I should kick your arse for asking such a fucked up question like that. No, we’re not ‘aligned’.” He scoffed before he took another drink. “So fucking **not** aligned. Would love nothing better than to have five minutes with Ichiro to re-align the bastard’s neck, I would.”

Well then, Andrew could work with that. “So that leaves the question about me. I take it from Abram’s friendly warning that I’m a bit of a loose end.”

“You’re a damn headache, is what you are. He shouldn’t have let you go.” Stuart stared at Andrew, something considering in his gaze. “And yet here you are, which makes me ask you again, what do you want?”

Andrew drained his very good whiskey before setting it down on the table and putting everything on the line, so to speak. “Got any open positions? Seems I’m out of a job right now. Consider the other night my interview, maybe Abram can give me a reference.”

Stuart started to laugh at that, but as Andrew stared at him without smiling, he quieted down and shook his head while motioning at the bar and holding up two of his fingers. Nothing was said as the server came back with two more drinks, Stuart eyeing Andrew the entire time with a level expression.

“You’re actually serious. Well fuck me.” He seemed to consider something as he finished the other drink then sipped his new one.

“I’m not known for my flippant nature,” Andrew remarked as he took a light sip from his new one as well.

“Yeah, somehow you don’t scream ‘life of the party’,” Stuart drawled. “Do you even know who the hell you’re talking to, eh?” When Andrew just stared at him, Stuart sighed and did a double-check that they were mostly alone in the bar.

“You know the Moriyamas, and yeah, they’re powerful in the US, especially the East Coast. Powerful in Japan, too. Not so much outside of those areas, though they’re trying.” He grimaced at that. “Now the Hatfords? We’ve been in the UK for centuries.”

“So should I bow or something?”

Stuart glared at Andrew. “Smart fucking mouth on you, no wonder Abram likes you. We don’t put on airs,” Andrew did some scoffing of his own at that, considering the way that every Hatford he’d seen dressed, “but it means we’re entrenched. It means our name has weight, both in the UK and in Europe. We’re not some young upstarts who just bust heads in and fuck things up. We get things done and we do it right, without unnecessary fuss.”

Andrew considered that. “And the Moriyamas fit in there how?”

“Like a dog with a damn juicy bone,” Stuart muttered, then he smiled a little. “But that can work, yeah.” Before Andrew could say anything or puzzle it out, Stuart picked up his glass and continued. “Let’s just say that at one point, we were looking into a merger of sorts with them. It made sense, at least on paper. But… yeah, it didn’t work out.” Stuart’s expression turned dark for several seconds before he drained his drink in a couple of swallows.

Andrew had to wonder if that falling out had anything to do with why the Moriyamas were after Abram.

“So you’re powerful here in Europe, I get that. And you don’t like the Moriyamas, which is even better. I’m not hearing anything that I don’t like,” he told the man.

Stuart pushed aside the empty glasses as he regarded Andrew once more. “Answer me this, no smart shite. You protected Kevin Day for almost five years against Riko and Tetsuji Moriyama, and then you walked away. Why?”

Andrew took another sip of whiskey before he responded, needing something to wash away the bitter taste in his mouth. “Because we had an agreement between us, and he didn’t hold up his end. Once we graduated, it was over between us.”

“So you ended it because he didn’t hold up his end of the bargain, yeah? That was it?” Stuart didn’t seem like he believed it.

“Yep.” Andrew tapped his fingers against the table, desperate for a cigarette and annoyed by the ‘no smoking’ signs. “I held up my end of the bargain and he didn’t.”

“Your word is important to you, is it?” Stuart asked as he leaned back into his seat, his pale eyes intent on Andrew.

Andrew gave him a sneer. “Are you going to believe me if I say ‘yes’?”

All Stuart did was stare at him for several seconds. “See, here’s the thing. You’re right about you being a loose end, one that Abram should know better about leaving dangle, but for some reason that boy let you go.” He’d done more than ‘let Andrew go’, he’d all but shooed Andrew away. “And as it just so happens, I do happen to have a spot that’s come open, something I think you might be right for, considering things.” Stuart’s eyes narrowed all of a sudden as he jabbed a blunt finger in Andrew’s direction. “But me and mine? We don’t like people who go against their word, either, so think twice before we take this any further. This isn’t something you walk away from, and shite like the other night? Let’s just say that’s all part of the job description.”

It sure as hell beat running boring background checks all day and dealing with assholes who couldn’t brew a new pot of coffee when they drank the last cup. “Do I have to dress up like some prissy bastard?”

Stuart looked at Andrew’s black jeans and sweater then scoffed. “You sure as hell can’t look like some midget goth, yeah.”

Not what Andrew wanted to hear. “Let’s try this again. What will I be doing?”

“Whatever I tell you to do,” Stuart said with a serious expression. “I’ve a certain job in mind, and it’s important,” he assured Andrew. “Guard duty, some errand running, good bit of travel. You’ll have to relocate to London, but we’ll have a place to put you up in when we get there.”

“One problem, I don’t have a work visa or anything,” Andrew pointed out.

Stuart waved that aside. “Did you not hear me? We’re not some piddling street gang, Minyard. You got your passport on you?”

Andrew did, since he’d gone back to Nicky’s apartment yesterday when his cousin and Erik were out at work to gather what few belongings he didn’t want to leave behind, such as his passport, laptop, e-reader, a couple of changes of clothing and toiletries, which were all currently in the backpack. He slid the passport across the table, and Stuart took out his phone to snap a picture of the pages with Andrew’s photo and information before sending it off to someone. “Now, if you’re in, we’ll be leaving tomorrow morning for London, bright and early.”

“You move fast, don’t you?” Andrew picked up his glass and swirled the whiskey around. “So you handle all the red tape for me, room and board, what else?”

“Pay’s not bad, healthcare’s decent, and transportation is included – that or I ask my associates to take you for a nice ride, which I’m sure you know how that ends. Now are you in or what?” Stuart folded his arms over his chest and gave Andrew a cold look. “I’ve got things to do today, other than deal with an ignorant Yank.”

“You need to work on your sales pitch,” Andrew told him in a bored tone. “Better not stick me with a damn Jaguar or something.”

“What, you want another German model like the one you traded in?” Stuart asked, proving just how much of a background check he’d done on Andrew.

“Hmm, if you insist on your native brand so much, a McLaren wouldn’t be too bad,” he needled his new employer.

Stuart huffed at that. “You’ve got balls, I’ll give you that, you little prick.” He slid Andrew back his passport. “Stay here for the night, and meet me in the lobby at seven am. Someone will come with a room key for you shortly.”

Before he could leave, Andrew asked the question he’d been wondering about ever since he’d seen the man walk in with just the muscle at his side. “Where’s Abram? Will he be joining us tomorrow?”

Stuart finished his drink then stood up, his hands busy buttoning up his expensive coat. “Abram’s already back in London. Will – that’s ‘sir, yes sir’, to you, wanted him back where he’s safest after what went down.” He didn’t seem upset at the question, if anything he seemed pleased as he went to the bar to settle their tab and then left.

Andrew sat there for a few more minutes as he nursed his whiskey, and the server came over with a room key just like Stuart had said. He went up to the fourth floor to what had to be the nicest hotel room he’d ever stayed in, and made sure to bolt the door behind him. Once there, he took advantage of the room’s bar and ordered something to eat, and called Nicky to let his anxious cousin know what was going on.

Nicky couldn’t grasp the concept that Andrew was leaving Germany already, and without stopping by to say ‘goodbye’ at that, though Andrew told him that he’d probably be back at some point. He hedged a bit, just said that he’d struck up a friendship with Abram and been offered a job by the man’s uncle, a job he had accepted and he’d call Nicky in a few days when he knew a bit more.

Andrew slept rather well that night, considering that he’d upended his life on a whim and was starting a new career as a criminal… but for the first time in maybe forever, it was a decision that _he_ had made, a path that he’d chosen all on his own, of his own will. He had no responsibilities weighing him down, no obligations, no one telling him what he should or shouldn’t do. There was the spare thought that Bee would be disappointed if she found out about this new career, but hadn’t she always told him that he needed to find something that made him feel whole? That gave him some sort of purpose? Exy hadn’t done it, offering up parts of himself to others as they just let him down hadn’t, either, and his pathetic stab at a ‘normal’ life had almost been as bad as those years on the fucking medication.

He’d never fought being labeled a ‘monster’, because deep down he’d known that was what he was. Standing in that small street the other night, with the bodies around him and Abram’s calm acceptance of the violence… it had felt right. Andrew had been at peace, at least until Abram had told him to run away and forget everything.

So he gathered his few belongings together and went down to the lobby to wait for Stuart Hatford, arriving a few minutes early so he could stop by the lobby’s restaurant for a coffee to help wake him up a bit better. He wasn’t surprised to see the mobster arrive dressed in yet another impeccable suit and with a very large man at his side.

“Andrew, this is Joey. Joey, Andrew.” Andrew blinked when the man, who appeared about ten years older than him, over a foot taller and at least seventy pounds heavier, held out his right hand.

“Nice to meet you,” Joey said in a much less cultured accent than Stuart’s. “Marlboro Reds, eh?”

It took Andrew a moment to realize that had been the cigarette he’d been smoking when Abram had borrowed one. “Yeah.” He shook the man’s hand, then blinked again when Joey handed over an envelope.

“Come on, let’s get going,” Stuart said, and Joey took care of the luggage as they headed out front, where the Aston Martin was waiting for them. Another guy, not quite as built as Joey but still impressive, was quick to open the door for Stuart and help Joey with the luggage – Andrew caught the name ‘Micha’. So this was who Abram had called the other night.

Stuart got into the back seat of the car and motioned for Andrew to join him; Andrew did, but made sure to keep enough space between them. Once inside, he opened the envelope and found an international driver’s license for himself, as well a new passport, bearing the proper stamps indicating that he was in Europe on a work visa, as well as the corresponding documents. There was even a bank account set up for him and a new phone. “I may actually be impressed,” he said in a bored voice.

“Yeah, can see it’ll be a real peach, working with you,” Stuart said as he rubbed at his forehead. “Don’t fuck anything up going through customs, yeah? Just say you’ve been hired to help out with security if they ask anything, it helps jibe with what you were doing in the past is close enough to the truth. Don’t go causing any trouble.”

“Who, me?” Andrew asked as he swapped out his passports and stashed away all of the other documents and items.

Stuart just gave him a flat look at that.

They made it to the airport at a decent time, and flying first class helped to speed up the process of checking in and everything – whoever said that crime didn’t pay had apparently never dealt with the big leagues. Security didn’t give him any grief about the knives stashed in his backpack and Customs didn’t even blink at Andrew’s new passport, and Stuart let Andrew wander off to get some more coffee and a few donuts to eat for breakfast.

The flight to London didn’t take very long, and first class was a vast improvement over economy, Andrew had to say. He enjoyed his free alcoholic beverages and the bit of space, which almost made flying bearable. Almost.

Customs once again all but ignored him, which made him wonder if there was something stamped on his pass, and he didn’t have any luggage to claim, not with him only bringing his backpack, and soon enough he was in another fancy Aston Martin being driven by another young man in an expensive suit. “Your dry cleaning bills much be a bitch, especially if you have to get your hands dirty,” he said to Stuart.

“You’d be surprised,” the man remarked as he lit up a cigarette, which Andrew was quick to do now that they were out of the airport. “They see this,” Stuart said as gestured along the front of him, “and they have a clue who they’re dealing with. They know we’re not the usual thugs, and the bright ones? They back the fuck down.” He blew out a plume of smoke. “Like I said, fucking entrenched. We’ve been around a long time and we’ve got the connections, the allies. You fuck with us, and we won’t stop until you’re dead and gone.”

Andrew considered that for a moment as he drew on his cigarette. “And the Moriyamas?”

Stuart stared out the window as he seemed to consider the question. “That’s… a bit complicated. An underling was involved, people claimed broken promises and a proper cock-up it was. But long story short, we’ve pretty much shut them out of Europe and they’re not happy.” He gave a bitter laugh at that. “Cost us dearly, but yeah, we hurt them.”

“Yet they’re after Abram,” Andrew pointed out.

There was more silence as Stuart burned through a little more of his cigarette before he turned to face Andrew. “Look, I’m taking a chance on you because I think it won’t work out otherwise.” He didn’t say what ‘it’ was. “But I’m not stupid enough to trust you completely.”

“Thank you,” Andrew said with a good bit of sarcasm.

“You don’t need to know everything,” Stuart continued, his expression one of great annoyance. “Just that yeah, the Moriyamas would give a lot to get their hands on Abram, and me and Will? He’s who everyone answers to, you ignorant Yank, by the by, but anyway, yeah, we’re not going to let that happen. Nobody who’s loyal to us is ever going to let that happen.”

Andrew flicked ash off of his cigarette into the car’s fancy carpet. “Is he that important?”

Stuart glared at him as if he’d said something highly offensive. “He’s a Hatford. He’s blood.”

Oddly enough, Andrew understood that. “All right then, they don’t get their hands on him. I’m all for depriving the Moriyamas of what they want.”

“I figured you were,” Stuart said as he tugged on his expensive silk tie. “One other thing….” He frowned as if trying to figure out what to say. “Abram is… fuck, you’ve seen him. You’ve talked with him. He’s not… he does whatever he can for the family. He does too much, really.” The man was looking distinctly uncomfortable at the moment. “But he doesn’t… ah, hell, just put up with him, all right?”

That didn’t make much sense to Andrew, and the rest of the drive was spent in an odd silence as they drove into London proper. They came to what looked to be the underground of some residential apartment complex, the garage filled with expensive cars and needing a code to get into, where Stuart motioned for Andrew to get out of the car.

“This is where you’ll be staying,” he explained as they went over to an elevator. “Davis will have your keys and access card for you, and the car will be delivered by tomorrow.”

Andrew glanced around him, his expression blank. “I suppose it’s not too bad.”

“Try to contain your enthusiasm,” Stuart bitched as he pulled out a card from his wallet and swiped it so they could go up to the 20th floor, which looked to be the top. “Several of our people live here, you’ll see them over the next few days since they stop by a lot.”

Andrew didn’t like the sounds of that. “I like my privacy.”

“Well, that’s going to be a bit of a problem,” Stuart told him with a huge grin. “Because you’ve got a roommate. Part of the job and all.”

“What?” Andrew glared at the man as he tugged his backpack closer to him, his right hand inching toward the zipper so he could retrieve one of his knives.

“Yeah, that job? You’re Abram’s full-time bodyguard.”

That… wasn’t what Andrew had expected to hear. He blinked in surprise while Stuart’s grin took on a sharp edge. “Somehow I didn’t think you’d object. Now let’s see his reaction, which I think is going to be decidedly more pissy.” The elevator reached their floor, and Stuart stepped out before Andrew could say anything.

Abram’s apartment turned out to be 20C, down at the end of the hall, and Stuart gave a quick knock before unlocking the door. “Oi! You better be decent, Ram!” he called out while entering.

“That was a quick flight, no problem with traffic or anything?” Andrew heard Abram say as they entered the apartment; it was bright and filled with light, much like Nicky’s had been, thanks to the one wall being largely composed of windows. Unlike Nicky’s, it was huge and modern, and not filled with much furniture. There was a spacious kitchen with only a couple of appliances on the counter, a living area with a couch, a coffee table and a chair, a couple of doors to other rooms and a loft area even. The walls were painted in pale greys and had one or two paintings on them, but on the whole, there wasn’t that much personality to the place.

So Abram stood out as he stepped out of one of the rooms, dressed in cotton pants that hung low on his hips and a clinging tank top, both in light grey colors as well. It made the sleeve of red flowers on his upper right arm stand out in bright contrast, along with the colorful shield design on his left chest which peeked out from the top of the tank top… along with several scars along his upper chest and collarbones. His black hair was damp and wavier than normal, and he had leather bands on his wrists for some reason. The smile fell from his face when he realized that Andrew was there, along with his uncle. “Why is he here?” he asked as he took a step back, before going into the room he’d just left.

Stuart went into the kitchen and opened the fridge, which he studied for a few seconds before pulling out two bottles of water, one of which he threw at Andrew. “Bren hasn’t been by yet to drop off some groceries?”

Abram came back out of the room with a long-sleeved shirt pulled on, his hands working on with the buttons. “He’s been busy. I just… uhm, got some take-away last night.”

“Jesus Christ, Ram, there’s no fucking food in here.” Stuart glared as he leaned against the fridge. “Have you eaten yet today? And by that I mean real food.”

“Uhm…,” Abram brushed back the hair falling onto his face while his uncle’s glare became more virulent and Andrew grew somewhat amused. “Never mind that, why is Andrew here?”

“Yes, why am I here?” Andrew asked. “I would think you can yell at him for his poor nutritional habits without witnesses.”

“It’s like I said, you’re staying here,” Stuart informed Andrew while Abram’s face paled at the news. “And no, don’t give me any shite about it,” he snapped at his nephew as he set aside the bottle of water. “You were warned, Ram. Will and I both told you that one more instance and you’d get a bodyguard. Well, here he is.” He motioned toward Andrew. “Full-time, which means he stays with your 24/7.”

“No. No, no, no, _no_ ,” Abram said in an obvious panic. “I don’t need one, I handled those guys just fine!”

“I did help a little,” Andrew murmured as he opened his bottle of water, and got glared at in return from both Hatfords.

“I’ll stick at home or the hotel whenever we’re not out,” Abram said in a rush, obviously doing his best to barter. “I won’t use the metro, I promise. Just don’t do this!”

Stuart shook his head as he approached his nephew, his hands held out but careful not to touch Abram, Andrew noticed. “Ram, this isn’t a punishment, I swear to you it isn’t. But those assholes aren’t going to leave you alone so we have to do something. You seem to get along with the little prick, yeah? So just accept this and move on, okay? Because if it’s not him, then it’s going to be someone else. Will’s made that perfectly clear.”

Abram took several hard, fast breaths as he shook his head a couple of times, then closed his eyes as he seemed to struggle for control. “I don’t like this,” he gritted out after several seconds.

“Yeah, I get that,” Stuart admitted. “But it’s happening. Either it’s Andrew here or someone Will picks. Which will it be?”

That made Abram open his eyes as he stared past his uncle at Andrew. “You stupid bastard,” he said in German, his voice worn and his expression bleak. “Why didn’t you run?”

“Because I saw no need,” Andrew answered him in the same language.

“Is this really by your own choice?” Abram asked. “Or is he forcing you to do this?” He glanced at his uncle, who was sipping the water he’d set aside before.

“I searched him out, not the other way around,” Andrew admitted. “Not happy about the living arrangements, but I asked him for a job.”

“So fucking stupid,” Abram cursed him out as he ran his hands through his damp hair. “Fine,” he told his uncle in English. “I hate everything about this, but fine.” Displeasure radiated from Abram’s very being.

Stuart smiled at his nephew. “That’s the spirit! I can already imagine the calls I’ll be getting about the two of you, yeah? Keep the bloodshed to a minimum.” He gave Andrew a slight wave as he turned around. “Davis will be by with the keys so call him if there’s anything else he needs. And I’ll get on Bren – fool knows you haven’t stepped foot in a damn grocery store in years.”

Abram looked a bit chagrinned at that. “I got caught up in stuff – you know how busy it gets when I leave.”

“You always get caught up in stuff. That’s why Cal’s supposed to check up on you all of the time, make sure your fool ass isn’t passed out again.” Stuart gave Andrew a fixed look at that. “Guess he gets a break with that now, eh?”

“Lucky me,” Andrew remarked as he gladly saw the man out the door. “Do I get a bonus if your darling nephew lives past the week?”

“You don’t get a bullet in the brain,” Stuart informed him in a perfectly serious tone, to which Andrew slammed the door behind him.

That dealt with for the time being, he turned to look at Abram, who was huddled over the fancy granite island in the kitchen. Andrew held on to the strap of his backpack for a moment as he regarded the man, the way that Abram appeared so open for a moment, then cleared his throat. “Look, if this is-“

Abram cut him off as he stood up and shook his head. “No.” He sighed as he went to the fancy wrought iron wine rack, one of the few things on the kitchen counter other than what looked to be a hot water dispenser, a toaster oven and a microwave oven, and grabbed a bottle of wine as if at random. “I’ll give you a bit of advice since you’re new to everything. You don’t go against Uncle Stuart and Uncle Will, okay? Not if they’re both in agreement.”

Andrew set his backpack down on a stool in front of the island and waited to see what Abram would do next; he opened the bottle of wine, some type of red, and hesitated as he went to fetch a glass. At Andrew’s nod, he grabbed two. “So Will…?”

“Uncle Will.” Abram grimaced. “William Hatford to everyone else. He’s the current head of the family, been leading it for the past twenty years or so, and doing a good job. Everyone expects him to keep at it for at least a few more years, then hand the reins off to Jamie, his daughter.”

Andrew arched an eyebrow at that. “His daughter.” From what he knew of the Moriyamas, it usually was the men who led.

Abram fixed him with a cold stare. “Yes, his daughter. She’s brilliant, knows the business inside and out, and I’ve no doubt will do an even better job than her dad.” His tone made it clear that he supported her a hundred percent, and then some.

“Just asking. The little I’ve dealt with ‘the business’ made it seem like a boy’s club,” Andrew commented.

Abram was quiet as he poured them both some wine. “It can be, which is why it’s important to support Jamie,” which was all he said. “Look, whatever you know about the Moriyamas, keep it as a reference but not a bible,” he advised. “Things are done a bit different over here. Family as a whole comes first, it’s not as… divided.”

He must be referring to the branches, Andrew thought. “I’d hope it’s not as fucked up, considering that I just bought into it.”

“I warned you,” Abram said in a rather biting tone before he picked up the glass and drained a good bit of the wine. Then he set the glass down on the island and sighed. “But yeah, the Hatfords… they’re good. Considering and all.” Andrew thought it was interesting, that ‘they’.

Abram refilled his glass, and after Andrew drank some more of his, refilled Andrew’s glass as well. Then he pushed away from the island so he could show Andrew around the apartment.

The room Abram had gone in and out of was his bedroom, which Abram pointed to but didn’t let Andrew look inside. There was a spare bathroom, complete with a very nice shower/bathtub combo, which Abram told Andrew he could use, and a spare room which probably was meant to be a bedroom but which Abram had converted into a workout room. It had a very nice treadmill, a climber, a rowing machine and some weights. Andrew regarded the weights and frowned. “I lift more than that,” he said after several seconds.

Abram shrugged and pulled out his phone from a pocket in his pants. “I’ll let Davis know. Another hundred pounds?”

Andrew blinked at that. “Hundred and fifty might be best, for now.”

“You’ll probably need someone to spot you, then.” Abram didn’t appear too concerned or offended that Andrew lifted more than him. Then again, he had a much slender build. “Bren or Cal can come by when they’re not busy. As you can see, I focus more on cardio.”

Yes, that made sense, considering Abram’s lean frame and how fast he’d moved, the other night. “So what, you command and these guys answer?” Andrew was trying to figure out the structure here, what the hell was going on and how he would fit into it.

Abram blinked at that. “Ah… huh.” He frowned as if thinking about it. “I do my thing, and there’s a few other people around to help out. If Bren, Davis or Cal aren’t busy, they’ll help out.”

Like to buy groceries and make sure Abram didn’t overwork himself to death, apparently. Andrew was beginning to understand what Stuart had been trying to say, back in the car. “And what is it exactly you do?” He figured that Abram should be able to answer the question now.

Abram was quiet as he led Andrew up the stairs to the loft area, a glass of wine still in his left hand. Once they reached the landing, he finally answered. “I do most of the translations for the family and our important allies, anything critical. And we’re expanding the business, bringing in Russian and Chinese clientele, among others. I assist with that.”

Still a bit vague, but Andrew could accept that for now. He looked across the landing, which consisted of a futon on the landing and not much else. “So….”

“Ah, yeah, this is yours now, I guess.” Abram shrugged. “Never really used this much.”

Andrew just stared at him. “How much does the rent cost here?”

“I… don’t know?” Abram appeared puzzle at the question. “Why are you asking?”

Andrew just continued to stare at him. “You don’t know your rent and someone buys your groceries because you can’t be bothered about things like food.” Yeah, Stuart’s conversation was making more and more sense. Apparently, Abram didn’t come up for air too often, in between translating shit and killing people. Andrew gave it two weeks tops before he stabbed the bastard to death.

Abram must have picked up on something because he scowled as he pulled out his phone. “Try the fucking mattress, you prat. Before I slit your throat and roll you up in it.”

Doing what he’d been told for once, Andrew went over to the futon and sneered over how thin it was. “Seriously, have you had anyone sit on this thing?”

“And that would be a ‘please get me a new one because I’m a fucking princess’,” Abram remarked as he typed away some more, before draining his wine glass. “Be sure to thank Davis for getting everything your whiny ass demands.”

As for Andrew, he was having a bit of difficulty reconciling the person who had coldly murdered three men and assisted with another to the prick who was standing in front of him right then. “And what’s your excuse? You can’t even seem to feed yourself without these guys?”

Abram stared at him for a few seconds before flipping him off then stalking down the stairs. Andrew heard a door slam shut and figured that he was left to his own devices for the immediate future; he took to snooping around – well, not really ‘snooping’ since he’d been told it was his new ‘home’ for the foreseeable future. He looked in the closet to find only a couple of pillows and a blanket, and didn’t really find anything else. How long had Abram lived in this apartment?

He also didn’t find a television, which he couldn’t comprehend. Who the hell lived in a fancy apartment without a fucking television? As far as he could tell, all Abram had was his damn laptop, set out on the coffee table, but no television unless it was in the bedroom. Which he didn’t hear, so yeah, he doubted it.

At least there was plenty of space for him to put his few clothes away and stash his own laptop and e-reader, before he took his toiletries and a change of clothes to the spare bathroom. He found some clean towels and washed off before heading upstairs to relax for a bit.

When Abram finally came out of the bedroom about an hour later, Andrew went down to confront him. “So, first, a new mattress.”

“Already on its way,” Abram told him in a bored tone.

“Second, a television.” When Abram just stared at him, Andrew glared. “Cable. TV shows. What the fuck do you do for downtime?”

Abram actually blinked at that. “Ah… I work.”

Andrew stared at him for several seconds before he started searching the kitchen cabinets; there were two bottles of some fancy-ass gin, but no whiskey. “Three, tell whoever the hell Davis is to get us some whiskey.” Andrew only drank gin as a last resort. “You don’t watch fucking tv?”

“How the hell do you think I learn a foreign language?” Abram snapped as he once more pulled out his phone and began to tap on it. “I work and I study.”

That answer gave Andrew some pause for a moment; he recalled how quiet Abram had been when Nicky and the others talked about popular topics, how Abram had been focused on his laptop in the café and hadn’t bothered to even eat. He remembered Stuart’s stilted conversation in the car earlier. “You have got to be fucking kidding me.” And he had thought Kevin had been obsessed with Exy.

“What?” Abram asked as he stared back at Andrew. “Do you want the stuff or not?”

Andrew ran his hands through his hair. “Television. Cable. Whiskey.”

“I got it,” Abram bitched. “He’ll be here soon enough with the damn mattress.” He glared at his phone and then blinked. “Uhm, apparently I already have cable.” He seemed confused about that, the expression making him appear so very young. “Huh. That seems like a waste of money.”

So said the man who was wearing some fucking shirt that Andrew bet cost a fortune. “What about food? I’m hungry.”

Abram sighed. “Do you like curry?” When Andrew stared at him, Abram sighed again and waved his left hand about in the air. “Ah, Indian? Do you like Indian food?”

As far as Andrew knew, he didn’t hate it. “Whatever.”

“Then he’ll be here soon enough.” Abram set his phone down on the island and went to fetch more wine, his hair now dry and less wavy than it had been before; Andrew thought he caught a hint of red at the roots when he went over to get a glass of wine for himself.

“One more thing.” Andrew waited until Abram looked over at him to continue. “The loft is mine. Anyone comes up into it uninvited, I’m going to stab them, understand?” He didn’t like the fact that he was sleeping in a place without a door, without something he could lock, so he was setting boundaries right then.

Yet all Abram did was gaze at him for a couple of seconds before nodding. “It’s yours. Best let the others know – they’re used to coming and going around the place, outside of my bedroom, that is.”

So it sounded as if Abram understood the concept of setting boundaries. Wasn’t that interesting? They each had a glass or two of wine, and Abram sat down at the island to work on his laptop and take a couple of calls in various languages while Andrew better checked out the ‘spare room’. After about an hour, there was a knock on the door before a man in his thirties arrived, one Davis Petch, with a Bren Morgan in tow, bringing in all of the shit Andrew had requested as well as some groceries. Both of them were obvious muscle, were tall and broad shouldered and built despite the easy-going smiles on their faces, but all Andrew cared about was that they were deferential to Abram and didn’t give Andrew any shit as they dropped off everything Abram had told them to fetch.

Andrew found the chicken Chettinad rather good, the whiskey decent, the new mattress firm enough and the cable interesting as he relaxed in his new ‘room’. The sheets were soft and he had enough pillows, and Abram had retreated into his room, so the apartment was quiet at the moment, with the curtains drawn so the lights of the city didn’t flood the loft to keep Andrew awake. Not too bad for a monster who had been homeless and jobless just a day before.

He had no illusions what he’d signed up for when he’d approached Stuart Hatford the day before… but as new beginnings went, this wasn’t bad, he had to admit.

*******

Abram jolted awake in his bed, the sheet tangled about his sweat-covered body and the duvet pushed half onto the floor. Vague murmurs in Romanian faded from his mind as he realized that he was safe in his apartment in Shoreditch, the feel of hands stroking along his body and handcuffs digging into his wrists slowly pushed aside as he forced the nightmare away. He struggled to even out his breathing as he combed back the hair falling onto his face, and only after the trembling stopped did he get out of his bed.

Knowing that it wouldn’t be worth it to try to fall back asleep again, he went to the bathroom to splash some water on his face, get ready, dressed then left his bedroom and, mindful of his new ‘roommate’, he went into the kitchen where he made an amino acid shake with as little noise as possible, grabbed a bottle of water and checked that the coffee machine was set to brew before he went into the exercise room. After drinking down his shake, he got on the treadmill then started running.

He would have preferred going outside to run, but after Stuttgart and now with Andrew… yeah, the treadmill would have to do for the time being. At least he could get some running in, and with his headphones on, he could drown out the memories and nightmares with music and the burn of muscles moving without worrying about anyone coming up to him. He ran for a couple of hours until his legs began to tremble, then went to over to the rowing machine to give his upper body a similar workout.

Andrew came in when Abram was drenched with sweat and sore, a sour expression on his usually blank face and a mug of coffee in his hands, and just stared at Abram for a couple of minutes before leaving. When he came back, dressed for his own workout, Abram had wiped down the equipment and was ready for his shower. They didn’t say a word to each other in passing.

The hot water felt good, and Abram realized he’d have to do his roots soon when he checked his hair in the mirror. He slipped on his armbands, a pair of worn jeans and a long-sleeved knit jersey but left his hair loose as he went to fetch his laptop and work while sitting at the island in the kitchen with a mug of coffee and a couple of pieces of toast for breakfast.

As always, there was plenty of work to keep him busy, incoming translation requests and various financial transactions for him to double-check and reroute. Some of it he probably could have handed off to others, but he preferred to handle everything tied into Jamie himself; there were too many people out there waiting for any excuse to tear her down, to prove that she didn’t have what it took to take over for her father. He wouldn’t allow them that excuse, especially when it might come from the people working beneath her.

He’d gotten through a sizable dent in his inbox and handled a couple of calls when there was a rapid knock on his front door right before David and Cal walked in with huge grins on their faces. They barely got in the door before Andrew, sweaty from his workout, came out of the spare room with a guarded expression on his face and a barbell in his right hand held as if an impromptu weapon.

“Ah, there his is, the Yank,” Davis told Cal, who eyed Andrew with evident caution. “We’ve got a gift for you.”

Andrew turned toward Abram with a displeased look. “They just come in here whenever?”

Abram shrugged as he finished typing up an email. “Building has security codes and access cards to get in, and our floor is locked down by the elevators and stairwell since it’s just me, Bren and Davis on it. Only two people have tried to break in since I’ve been here, and it didn’t work out too well for them.”

Davis groaned at that. “Was a right mess, it was. Do you always have to go for the damn arteries?” he asked as he glared at Abram.

Abram flicked the fingers of his left hand at the enforcer- slash – errand runner. “It gets me results.” He didn’t believe in unnecessary hacking, despite what his father - yeah, not going there, he told himself as he rubbed at his eyes.

“You call first from now on,” Andrew insisted as he set the barbell down on the counter. “Or you’ll be the next mess, got it?” The look he gave Davis and Cal, two men who had at least several inches on him and at least a couple stone each, was enough to impress the men.

“Huh, not bad,” Cal said as he nodded. “You’ll be okay, Abram.”

“I didn’t realize I wasn’t,” Abram replied with some annoyance.

“Anyway,” Davis cut in before Andrew could say anything, “we stopped by for a reason, yeah? The Yank’s car is here, and Stuart wants him to look the part.” Andrew had perked up at mention of the car, but then his expression darkened after that. “Said no more ‘midget goth’ shite.”

Despite his growing anger at everyone’s insistence that he needed a babysitter, Abram smiled just then. “Well, he may have a point.” Andrew’s ‘work-out’ clothes did consist of a black t-shirt and jeans, after all. “So you’ll take him out, yes?”

Davis gave Abram a pitying look, which set off warning bells. “No, you’re to, Stuart’s orders,” the man informed him. “Something about ‘tell that idiot to step away from the laptop and get some fresh air’.”

“That’s why I have a balcony,” Abram informed Davis with a rather scathing tone. “There’s even sun sometimes. I’m not a fucking houseplant.”

“Sorry, Sport, but it’s Boss’ orders.” Davis took out a key fob from his dark grey suit and tossed it at Andrew. “Make sure he’s walked and watered properly, yeah? Maybe give him a treat or two while you’re at it.” Davis laughed when Abram threw the crusts from his toast at the bastard – he was lucky it wasn’t a knife, but Abram would never hear the end of it from Stuart. “We left it in your parking spot,” he called out to Abram as he and Cal left the apartment. “Can’t miss it!”

“I think Stuart has a new favorite,” Cal said in a bit of a sullen tone as he pulled the front door shut behind them.

Andrew stared at the fob in his hand for a moment, his blank expression slowly changing into one of surprise. “No, he didn’t.” He almost went toward the door before he stopped himself. “Be ready to leave in five minutes,” he told Abram before he hurried up the stairs to his loft – when had Abram considered the loft area as ‘Andrew’s’ – and then just as quickly came back downstairs with a change of clothes before going into the spare bathroom.

Having the feeling that there wasn’t a choice in the matter, Abram sighed as he shut down his laptop and went to brush his teeth, then grabbed his wallet and phone. Andrew hadn’t exaggerated about that ‘five minutes’, either, because it didn’t take him that long to get cleaned up and ready to go out for the day.

He put his new keys and access card to use, locking up the apartment then taking the elevator down to the garage. “Where’s your parking spot?” Andrew asked with evident impatience.

“Right next to the elevator,” Abram told him. At Andrew’s curious look, he shrugged. “The building’s owned by a… colleague of ours, it’s why we have the one floor to ourselves, and how we can override the elevator. Also why we have the prime parking spots.”

“Hmm, Stuart wasn’t kidding when he said you were entrenched here, was he?”

Abram refused to react to that. “That, and we made some… wise business decisions.” He didn’t answer Andrew’s curious look, in part saved by the fact that they had reached the garage level. “Time to see what you got, yes?”

Andrew stepped out of the elevator with obvious impatience, and Abram followed a bit slower. He turned to the left and looked at the spot which had stayed empty these last couple of years since he had never cared about driving, not when there was a metro station a couple of blocks down, when Cal or Bren would arrange rides for him, and saw something that was very sleek and metallic grey parked inside.

“Fuck,” Andrew said in a quiet, almost reverent voice. “He got me the McLaren.”

“Uhm, okay.” It looked expensive and very fast, Abram gave it that. It also looked like it would stand out a lot, dammit. “I take it you asked for it?”

“Yes.”

All right. “Why?”

Andrew looked at him as if he was a blithering idiot. “It’s a McLaren.”

Abram was waiting for that word to mean something. “I see.” They continued to stare at each other for several seconds. “Well, no, I don’t see, really. Wouldn’t a, I don’t know, Mercedes or something have been better?” It wouldn’t stand out so much, that was certain.

Andrew rubbed at his forehead as if he had a headache. “Get in the damn thing, would you?” He sounded about three seconds away from running over Abram with the ostentatious vehicle.

“How does this thing even open?” Abram waited for Andrew to click the remote key fob that unlocked the doors, then watched what Andrew did – the damn things opened _up_ and not _out_ , go figure. “And you asked for this?”

“I’m beginning to think that you’re kept locked upstairs for the betterment of humanity,” Andrew snapped. “Sit down and don’t touch anything.”

The damn car roared to life with a sound that made Abram despair; there was no way they’d fail to be noticed, even with some of the fancy sports cars that roamed the more expensive districts of London. A very pleased expression came over Andrew’s face as he pulled out of the garage, and he took to driving around for several minutes before he seemed to remember that they had a destination in mind. “Where are we going?”

Abram pulled out his phone and pulled up the address. “Harrods.”

Andrew frowned at that. “Seems a bit public and all. Would think you’d have some private, fussy place in mind.”

“Harrods will do just fine,” Abram told him with more than a little sarcasm, considering what they were driving around in.

The traffic wasn’t the best, but it gave Andrew some time to figure out what the various buttons and toggles meant on his new car; Abram didn’t know why his uncle had ‘gifted’ such a thing to a new employee, other than to bind Andrew all that much more to the Hatfords. Because nothing ever came for free in their world, which Andrew would soon learn if he wasn’t aware of it already.

It took them some time to find a suitable parking spot for Andrew’s precious car (he wouldn’t let anyone else touch it) as well as reach the appropriate section of the huge store. By that time Andrew’s patience was wearing thin, and it occurred to Abram that his friend probably hadn’t eaten much that day. “We can grab something to eat once we’re done here,” he offered as he looked about for Liliya, who should be on the floor somewhere.

Andrew eyed the rows of expensive suits with obvious distaste. “I don’t see the point to all of this.”

“I didn’t either at first,” Abram admitted. “But it makes us stand out from… well, it’s part of who we are,” he tried to explain. What Andrew had bought into when he had refused to run. “So deal with it.” He gave Andrew a cool look for a few seconds, then summoned up a smile when he heard his name be called out.

“Abram! I didn’t expect to see you today,” Liliya said in Ukrainian as she held out her right hand to him; knowing what that cost her, he gave it a quick, gentle squeeze in greeting.

“I’m not here so much for myself but for a friend,” he answered in the same language before switching to English. “I was hoping you could help out Andrew.” He introduced his old friend to his new bodyguard, aware of how Andrew was studying the young woman with her neatly tied back hair, her conservative but fashionable dress and the wide silver cuffs on her wrists. “Andrew this is Liliya. Lilya, this is Andrew. I believe you’ll be seeing a lot of him from now on.”

Liliya inclined her head toward Andrew as her glossed lips pursed together, taking in yet another black outfit of his. “More boring suits and the such,” she said with a weary sigh.

“Unfortunately, yes,” Andrew said before Abram could reply.

That sparked a suspicious gleam in Liliya’s dark brown eyes. “Oh ho.” She turned toward Abram with a wide smile. “Can I have fun with him?” she asked in Ukrainian. “Not so fussy, this one?”

Abram frowned at that – he didn’t think he was fussy, he had just left matters to Jamie and Stuart when they’d first dragged him out to be ‘properly dressed’ and… well, why bother changing things? “I think he’ll have an opinion of his own, but yes, have fun.”

Liliya crooked her right forefinger at Andrew, who gave Abram a rather displeased look before he followed her over to the fitting area, where she was very respectful in taking his measurements with a bare minimum of touching. There was a bit of murmuring exchanged between them, while Abram checked his phone and continued doing what work that he could, during which Liliya went back and forth with several items. Several very expensive items, considering that Abram heard ‘McQueen’ mentioned, being not entirely oblivious to some things. Ah well, it was Stuart’s expense account, let that teach his uncle to send him out shopping.

After a few phone calls and about an hour, Liliya had managed to accumulate an impressive amount of bags for Andrew, all of which would go toward her commission – it was why Abram always did his shopping here. “I’ll have one suit altered and delivered right away,” she assured them in English. “The rest will follow in a couple of days. These will do for now.”

“Thank you.” Abram signed the slip to authorize the payment to his uncle’s account before he helped Andrew with some of the bags.

She wished him well, and they went back to the car, where they had fun fitting all of the bags inside. Despite his hunger, Andrew took the time to drive a bit outside of the city before he found a place to eat, someplace he’d looked up on his phone, apparently. They got seated at a table where they could overlook the parking lot and the damn car, and ordered some fish and chips that actually turned out to be pretty good. Andrew had a couple of pints of beer to wash them down, Abram some bottled water.

“So, if you hand out expensive cars and designer outfits to everyone who signs up, you must have people beating down the doors to join,” Andrew remarked with a neutral expression as he set down an empty pint glass.

“One would think.” Abram took a bite out of a chip before he sighed. “You realize that Stuart’s just binding you even tighter into all of this, right?” He didn’t know why his uncle was so insistent on making Andrew one of their own, but the man was certainly was pulling out all of the stops.

“I figured that out on my own.” Andrew didn’t seem too bothered by it all, which surprised Abram. He didn’t think his new bodyguard cared much for restrictions at all – there had been that comment about not appreciating owing anyone things, after all.

“I thought you didn’t like being in someone’s debt.”

“I don’t see this as debt, I see it as part of my paycheck,” Andrew answered in between bites of his fish. “Which I deserve, if I have to live with you.”

Well, that was rather nice, wasn’t it? “I don’t see what I’m getting out of this,” Abram muttered as he dug through his chips, appetite a bit quelled all of a sudden.

“A friggen nanny, it seems, which you need. Who’s that Liliya?” Andrew finished his chips and started in on Abram’s, which he allowed.

“Someone I know,” was all Abram said, and gave the man a blank stare when it was clear that Andrew was waiting for more of an explanation. “I have work to do,” he continued after several seconds. “Hurry up and let’s get back.”

Andrew finished eating while Abram paid their bill, and it was a quiet drive back to the apartment. They carried Andrew’s new clothes upstairs, and Andrew spent some time arranging things in the loft while Abram got back to work – he spent most of the day working, breaking only to eat dinner when Andrew complained of hunger, enduring another road trip in the damn McLaren. Abram sent a very disgruntled text to his uncle about the fucking car and his new ‘roommate’, only to get a smug reply back on how pleased Stuart was that things were working out so well.

And Abram had thought that his father was a sadist.

Having to work late to make up for the time lost to Andrew’s ridiculous need to drive around, Abram slept in a bit for once and so found Andrew stumbling into the kitchen as he mixed up another amino acid shake as he prepared to start his morning work-out.

“Do you have something against sleeping in?” Andrew asked as he glared at nothing in particular.

“I don’t see the point to it,” Abram admitted; there were many things to get done and sleep often wasn’t his friend. “If you’re up, come and be of some use.”

Andrew’s expression grew even more unpleasant, but he didn’t argue as they went outside so Abram could get his morning run in. However, he had seriously overestimated Andrew’s endurance; the American appeared in excellent shape with his muscular yet trim build, but about halfway through Abram’s usual run, it was clear that Andrew was having serious trouble. “What was that about my preferred method of smoking?” Abram remarked when Andrew stumbled to a halt; Abram pulled out his phone to summon a taxi to take them back to the apartment. Dammit, he’d have to finish up on the treadmill after all.

His face flushed a brilliant red, Andrew glared at him. “I… hate… you so… much,” he gasped out.

“I can keep running,” Abram told his friend in a sweet voice as he hopped about from one foot to another.

“I’ll kill you… myself.”

“Hmm, that’s if you catch me.” Abram smiled while just out of reach until the taxi came to pick them up.

Andrew appeared rather put up with him for the rest of the day, though Abram noticed with some bemusement that his new roommate spent a good bit of his time working on his cardio that evening and the next day, while Abram had to deal with what he assumed was fallout of the whole Vikhrov affair and spent that time translating a lot of emails and phone transcripts from Russian and Japanese into English and Chinese, to the point that his head ached from dealing with switching back and forth between all of the languages.

So it wasn’t a surprise when on Thursday night a grim-faced Davis and Martin, an older enforcer who reported to his uncle Will, came knocking on his door – waiting for Andrew to open it. “Get ready and come along,” Davis said, no trace of amusement on his person for once.

“All right,” Abram answered, and went to his room to change out of his jeans and jersey, while Andrew headed upstairs without asking anything. It only took a few minutes for them both to get dressed, Abram in a dark grey suit and white shirt, Andrew in one of his black suits that had arrive, with a black shirt beneath it.

“I’ll follow you,” Andrew said, and Davis nodded. The four of them went down to the garage together, and Andrew pulled the McLaren behind Davis’ car. “So what’s going on?” he asked Abram once they were on the street.

“Most likely? I’ll be asked to translate something,” Abram explained as he made sure the cuffs of his shirt were loose.

“Why do I get the impression it’s not as simple as that?”

Abram gave the American a bland smile. “Because it’s not. Usually, the person I’m questioning… is rather reluctant, shall we say?”

“Does this mean I get to see you be less than polite for once?” Andrew asked with a hint of sarcasm.

“Hmm, maybe.”

They pulled into a section of town Abram knew rather well, of warehouses and storage units and people – including civil servants – who knew that it was in their best interest to ignore anyone well-dressed who arrived in an expensive car. Who would clamp up if the name ‘Hatford’ was so much was breathed. Part of it was that Abram’s family was rather generous with their money to those who were loyal and rather deadly to those who weren’t, and more than a few young people from the surrounding neighborhoods worked for the organization in some form or another. So he just gave Andrew a patronizing look when his friend frowned when getting out of the ridiculous car. “It’ll be fine,” he assured him. “Might even come out to find it washed and waxed.”

“I don’t want it touched,” Andrew grumbled as he locked it up.

Abram sighed and motioned for the American to follow Davis and Martin to the dented door halfway down the outer wall, which opened at their approach. Christian gave them a quick once-over then nodded while he stepped aside, and the scent of cigarettes, stale blood and vomit assailed Abram’s senses.

Yeah, it was going to be one of those nights.

Stuart was waiting for them, along with Cal, Den and Jamie. Abram noticed how Andrew took them all in, his gaze lingering on Jamie for a moment before landing on the half-naked man tied to the chair near them, already a bit bloody and battered. “What have we got?” Abram asked as he shrugged off his coat.

Stuart’s gaze lingered on Abram for a moment before he answered. “Romanian, from what we can tell. Baz caught him trying to break into the office.”

“He had enough heroin on him to make things uncomfortable, if there was someone stupid enough to call in a warrant,” Jamie explained. “And some fancy tech Liz assures me could have proven a threat to our system. She’s double-checking everything right now, her and Jason. Probably be at it all night.”

Those two wouldn’t rest until they made sure that nothing had been compromised, so Abram wasn’t too concerned. “Let me guess, he doesn’t speak a word of English,” he said as he set his coat aside on a stack of crates and began to roll up his sleeves as well, exposing the armbands.

“Nope,” Uncle Stuart confirmed.

“Very well, let’s get this over with.” His forearms and black armbands exposed, he eyed the man for a moment, noted the cheeky smile the Romanian had for him, then nodded once. He was certain that he didn’t look anywhere near as imposing as the rest of his uncle’s people, being that much shorter and overall smaller, but the man would soon learn.

Abram selected one of the thinner knives from his left armband before he moved forward. “You have one chance to speak now – tell me who paid you to target us and why,” he said in Romanian. It wasn’t his best language since he didn’t use it too often, didn’t like the association with it, but he kept up on it enough for times like these. He had to use it often enough because of times like these; the Moriyamas and their allies, the Cojocaru, seemed to have no shortage of men to throw at the Hatfords’ defenses.

The man just grinned at Abram, his lips split and teeth bloody. So Abram grinned back, the expression the one he’d learned from his father, and motioned for Den to hold the man’s head still. “Who sent you?” he asked as he dragged the blade down the man’s left cheek, his voice raised over the man’s eventual scream of pain.

“Whoreson!” the man spat at him when Abram pulled back. “They didn’t fuck you enough, did they?”

Abram felt the corners of his lips twitch even wider as he leaned in to dig the knife into the man’s left pectoral muscle; it would hurt oh so bad, but shouldn’t bleed out too much. “What was that? You know about the Popescu cousins?” Off to the side, Jamie went still while Stuart cursed beneath his breath. “I think you know a good bit more then, yes?” The Romanian let out a scream as Abram dragged the knife about an inch through tough muscle. “And I get to cut it out of you,” he continued, “before I slit your throat just like I did theirs.”

“Ram, back off,” Uncle Stuart told him, his voice rough for some reason.

“He knows something,” Abram argued as he pulled up the bloody knife to flick another line down the sobbing man’s check.

“And you’re not asking any questions, are you?” Jamie pointed out. “Back off and calm down, Ram, please.”

It wasn’t often when Jamie _asked_ things, and for a moment, Abram paused. But the anger was there, mixed with the awful memories that never quite went away, all buzzing in his blood, and he could take it out on the man in front of him so he raised the knife – only to find his right hand caught in mid-air.

He hissed in outrage and twisted about at someone _touching_ him, but Andrew was already snatching the knife away and letting go of Abram’s wrist. “This looks like fun, I don’t see why you should be the only one playing.” He gave Abram a cool look as he held the knife in his hand for a moment before handing it back. “Think I’ll use my own, though.”

“You have no-“

“Let him,” Jamie ordered. “I want to see the new guy in action.” Her cool grey eyes glinted with determination as they stared at Abram. “You’re to ask for information, all right? Get us what we need.”

“All… all right.” Abram shuddered a little as he banked the anger, the need to make someone hurt like he’d been hurt, and almost wiped at his face with his bloody fingers; Davis handed him a damp cloth so he could wipe away the blood, both from his hand and the knife. “Make sure he can still talk,” he told Andrew.

“Hmm, I think I can manage that.” Andrew approached the Romanian after removing his own coat and rolling up his sleeves in a manner similar to what Abram had done minutes before; the bloody man produced a weak scoff as if unimpressed – at least until Andrew punched him hard enough to knock loose several teeth. “Going to talk now?” Andrew asked, and punched him again, this time in his wounded chest.

As the man hunched over and screamed in pain, Andrew drew one of his own knives, his expression perfectly blank, and sliced it along the bottom of the Romanian’s left ear, along the lobe as if to start cutting away the appendage.

“Stop! Stop it,” the man called out, the words distorted both by the blood pouring out of his mouth and the lack of teeth.

Abram motioned for Andrew to pause for a moment. “Tell us who sent you and why,” he repeated from earlier. When the man hesitated, he waved to Andrew to continue on.

“All right!” The man sobbed a little, and Andrew smacked him on the side of the head before stepping away. “Co-cojocaru,” the man admitted, before babbling on about spyware and a man on the Met’s payroll and an overall attempt to break into the Hatfords’ network by a backdoor attack and a more formal audit resulting from the raid. Abram had Andrew inflict a bit of judicious pain now and then to spur the man – Matei – on, and wouldn’t be surprised if the Moriyamas had something to do with this latest move by the Cojocaru family. It just seemed too ambitious for the Romanians.

Still, that was for Jamie and Uncle Will to decide, since Abram’s job was just to get the information out of their would-be saboteur. And after about an hour when there wasn’t anything more forthcoming, he looked over at Jamie, who gave him a curt nod. Abram went to step forward to take care of the matter, but Andrew must have noticed because he reached out with the knife in his hand and gave a quick, vicious stab to the back of the Romanian’s neck, along his spinal column.

“Nice,” Den said in an obvious tone of approval.

“See, no mess,” Davis pointed out to Abram. “Well, other than… okay, less of a mess.”

“Fuck off,” Abram told the man while he stared at Andrew. “You didn’t have to do that.” He waited to see if there was any sort of reaction to the fact that his friend had just killed a man in cold blood, but Andrew just grimaced at the blood on his hands.

“It was more interesting than just standing around and watching. Now is there somewhere to wash up or what?”

Davis led Andrew away toward the back, where there were sinks, while Uncle Stuart lit up a cigarette for himself and one for Abram as well. “Maybe the little prick is worth the investment after all.”

Abram gave his uncle a narrowed look for that comment, but Jamie spoke up first. “He better be, considering how I’m stuck listening to Ally whine about how you took away a toy he’d been hoping to have for himself. Not that the lazy bastard does any real work.” She paused in typing out something on her phone to stare off in the direction in which Andrew had gone. “But not bad, for a Yank.” She then looked at Abram. “Interesting taste there, little cousin.”

He drew himself up to his full height, which still fell a full inch short of Jamie’s – something she took great delight in, considering how most of the organization’s men loomed over her. “He’s just a friend, if you even want to call him that. I’m stuck with him thanks to Uncle Stuart.”

“Oh no, you’re stuck with him because you didn’t put a bullet in his brain when you should have,” Stuart argued. “So yes, interesting taste there, Ram.” There was an odd smirk on his uncle’s face just then.

Abram glanced back and forth between the two of them. “Just what are you trying to say here?”

“Of course he doesn’t have a clue,” Jamie remarked as she continued to tap away on her phone.

“Which is probably a good thing, or I’d shoot the little prick myself.”

“Hmm, we need to get a bit more work out of him, considering the initial investment,” Jamie said as she frowned at her phone, her blond bob falling onto her face. “Dad wants me to check in with him – looks like the office so far has proven clean, but he’s not happy with the Cojocaru tie and the mole in the Met.” She looked over at Abram. “Don’t you dare go anywhere without Andrew at your side, do you understand?” Before Abram could complain, she turned that laser-like stare on their uncle. “The same goes for you. I don’t want any slips or fuck-ups, is that clear? Because you won’t have to worry about the Romanians or the Japanese, you’ll deal with me.” For a slim, pretty woman in a tailored pant-suit, she radiated more menace than any of the enforcers in the warehouse.

“Yes ma’am,” Abram told her with a slight bow of his head, which his uncle echoed.

“Should we cancel the trip to Paris?” Uncle Stuart asked.

“No, go ahead,” she ordered. “I won’t let these bastards interfere with anything. Just keep your guard up at all times, and no slipping off alone.” That last was directed toward Abram.

He nodded again, and waited for Andrew to return so they could leave, during which Stuart told him to let ‘the little prick’ know about the trip. Once Andrew arrived, they didn’t bother putting their suit coats back on, not with the drying blood on their shirts – more in Andrew’s case, since Abram hadn’t been that close in the last hour or so, though Andrew made sure to borrow some towels so they didn’t ruin the leather in his precious car.

Davis made sure that no one was in the parking lot when they got to the apartment building, and of course cameras weren’t a concern when it came to them. Still, they hurried to the elevator, and Abram shrugged off his shirt as soon as he was safe inside of his bedroom. The shirt was tossed into the garbage bin, to be disposed of the next day, and the pants seemed to have come through unscathed. After a quick shower, Abram dressed in a loose pair of cotton pants and a long-sleeved t-shirt, then went out to the kitchen for a rare glass of gin.

Andrew joined him in about another ten minutes, probably because it took longer to wash off the blood. The black outfit was decidedly more designer label than it had been a few days ago, but Abram wasn’t in the mood for any smart remarks at the moment. He just fetched a bottle of whisky for his roommate/babysitter and watched as Andrew poured it into a clean glass. “We’ll be going to Paris tomorrow night.”

There was a pause as Andrew considered that. “Because of tonight?”

“No, this was planned. Surprised that Stuart didn’t tell you already.” Abram took a long sip of the alcohol and let it trickle down his throat. “Or one of the others.”

“Nothing at all.” Andrew gave him a bored look. “Maybe they assume you do something other than run me into the ground and stare at a laptop all day.”

Abram sighed at that. “Look, this… it’s all new to me.” He wasn’t used to dealing with another person, not really. He worked with Uncle Stuart and whatever muscle or enforcer tagged along for the current task, but that was only for a couple of hours at a time. He got together with Jamie for projects here and there, interfaced with Jason or Sabine or Zhou, but a lot of that could be done remotely. There was a reason that the family had set him up in the apartment, had made sure that Davis and Bren were nearby and then mostly left him alone except for the check-ins; he worked hard, but he worked best alone. He worked best in isolation, because death and violence seemed to follow him around, seemed to pour out of him too easily if given a chance. As much as he hated it, he was his father’s son. “I don’t… I don’t deal well with people.”

Andrew snorted at that and poured himself more whisky. “Funny, because neither do I. So of course they stick two fuck-ups together.” He picked up his glass and the bottle before he went upstairs, to his loft.

Yeah, of course. Abram finished off his glass of gin before he rinsed it out and put it in the dishwasher, then went off to bed. He didn’t count on getting much sleep that night, not after hearing Romanian, after… but he’d get what he could before the nightmares caught up with him.

*******

Andrew almost found it amusing; Kevin and Wymack, among others, had tried to sell him on a professional Exy career by saying he’d get to see the world, would have a chance to travel when he eventually made Court (and coward Kevin kept assuring him that he would indeed make Court if he just gave a fucking damn for once). Yet here he was on his third country in less than two weeks, in a second extravagant hotel room he hadn’t paid for, and it wasn’t because of Exy. Well, not really. In some weird roundabout way, yes, because it tied in to the Moriyamas and Nicky, but he wasn’t playing the damn sport.

No, he was killing people for a living, which was a step up in his book. Aaron and most of the Foxes had always considered him a monster, and now he was proving them right. Too bad they didn’t know that being a monster paid very well. Well, the balance in Andrew’s new bank account had only gone up a few thousand pounds, but he had a very nice new car and an expensive as fuck wardrobe (even if the latter really didn’t mean a damn to him), so it made sense that Stuart was being a bit cheap with the pay for the time being. Wasn’t as if Andrew had to pay any rent or bills.

He kept waiting for what he’d done back at Stuttgart or at the warehouse to bother him, to wake up with nightmares or something… but it never did. Maybe those shrinks back in Columbia and Oakland had been right about him. Maybe everyone but Bee and Nicky had been right about him. Then again, Andrew had killed his own mother and it had never bothered him, so maybe he shouldn’t be so surprised. At least now he was doing it for people who appeared to appreciate his efforts.

All he had to do was lie to Nicky, something he did with ease, when his cousin called to check up on him, such as when he’d found out that Andrew was in Paris. It wasn’t even that much of a lie – Andrew had fessed up to working with Abram, to providing security for the Brit, and said he was tagging along with Abram to ensure that nothing happened on the ‘business trip’. He just was a bit vague as to what the business entailed, which seemed fine with Nicky, who was more concerned with Andrew being in close proximity to Abram for a good bit of the day. The idiot seemed to think that something was going on between the two of them, as of in a romantic sense, at which point Andrew always hung up on him.

Andrew shoved the phone into the pocket of his slacks and finished his cigarette, then turned around on the balcony which overlooked the Eiffel Tower, of all things, to watch Abram instead. His ‘job’, if he wanted to think of the Brit as that, was busy as usual on his laptop, a slight frown marring an otherwise gorgeous face as he typed away. As far as Andrew could tell, they’d come to Paris so Abram could help Sabine, a middle-aged woman who looked as if she could eviscerate a man with one well-manicured hand alone, she was all harsh angles and sharp eyes and thin-lipped smiles, balance some books. The woman spent a couple of hours each day in the hotel room here at the Hotel Plaza Athénée with Abram, while Stuart and Davis checked up with the local ‘office’. So far they hadn’t found any problems thanks to the Cojocaru family or the Moriyamas, but from what a weary Davis had told Andrew last night, Stuart was being a thorough fuck.

Andrew was slowly piecing things together; it wasn’t that the Hatfords and their people were shutting him out, it was just that they were slow to hand over important bits of information to an outsider. He’d taken a big step forward after that night in the warehouse, both in reining Abram in and being willing to get his hands dirty. Apparently Jamie Hatford, the young blonde woman who had stared on impassively as he’d beaten and carved up the Romanian asshole, had been impressed with him, which mattered to Stuart’s men. Andrew would say that Stuart was another one who supported the changing of the guard, in Jamie taking over for her father, William.

So there was Jamie Hatford, who had the support of at least two Hatfords whom Andrew was picking up on that a good bit of the muscle respected. There was Sabine Aubry, who was tied to a French organization which was allied to the Hatfords (which surprised Andrew a bit, considering what he remembered of his European history. But he supposed that thieves cared more for money than nationality), and some sort of Chinese ally or organization they both worked with that Andrew was still unclear on. He had just overheard Abram and Sabine refer to ‘Zhou’ several times, and of course someone named ‘Xue’ as well. From what Andrew could figure out, ‘Xue’ sounded a lot more important.

He could always ask Abram… but every time he asked anything more than a casual question, Abram countered with something equally personal, so they were at a stalemate unless Andrew wanted to give something away. That seemed like such a slippery slope, considering that they were living together, that he still felt that dangerous mix of desire and want for the Brit, when he had so many unanswered questions. Why had Stuart and Jamie felt the need to rein in Abram back at the warehouse? Why did Abram have those red flowers – poppies, Andrew thought they were – tattooed on his arm, and why did he hide them? Where were his parents? What about those scars that Andrew had only seen a brief glimpse of that one day?

Andrew finished his cigarette and went inside the lavish suite to pour himself a drink. As he crossed the room, Abram spoke up. “We’re to meet Sabine down in the cocktail bar in a few of hours.” He paused to look at his phone. “Eight o’clock.”

“Who’s ‘we’?”

“Sabine, Uncle Stuart, Davis, you and myself,” Abram explained as he continued to type away. “We can have something to eat before we meet up.”

“I suppose we can find something at one of the restaurants here,” Andrew drawled, which made Abram smile; the main restaurant was just considered one of the best in the city, due to its chef. Not that Andrew was that impressed with French food and tiny portions.

“I’ll make sure we have a table in two hours, then.” Abram groaned as he sat back in his chair, and Andrew told his hormones to take a flying fuck off a cliff at the way that Abram’s back arched, his neck elongated and his eyes closed just then, painting a much too attractive picture. Almost two weeks of living with the man, and still no sign that Abram had any sort of sexual urges whatsoever. Andrew did know that the Brit dyed his hair, due to smelling the chemicals one day in the apartment, and that he never was seen without those contacts in. Those facts only raised more questions, such as what Abram was hiding, and what he looked like with his clothes off. Unfortunately, he was always fully dressed when Andrew saw him.

Fully dressed and too damn aloof for words.

Andrew watched a bit of television while Abram finished another hour or so of work, even if a good bit of it was in French, and then they got ready for dinner; Andrew wore the black coat with the embossed black skulls on it, which made Abram with all of his proper grey suits shake his head and smile. They went down to the restaurant together, where they split a bottle of red wine that cost about a month’s rent back in Columbia (Abram balked at first, but Andrew nodded to the server – fuck it, Stuart was paying and after finding out how much the damn hotel room cost, the bottle of wine was nothing) and had dinner that still wasn’t anything special in Andrew’s eyes. He noticed that Abram’s expression would grow distant during the meal from time to time, and he would pause in eating.

“What, don’t tell me you’re actually savoring this shit.”

“No, not quite.” Abram’s smile just then was rather self-depreciating. “Just thinking… I believe I much rather prefer that one fish and chip place you took us when you got that dreadful car.” Andrew glared at the bastard for maligning the McLaren. “It seems like most times when I’m dining with someone I tend toward extremes, but that… that was nice.”

Andrew had to wonder a bit about that ‘extremes’ – it was obvious what the one end of the spectrum was, he’d seen enough of it in the last week or so, but who had taken Abram out to what had to be dives to eat? When had that happened? Or was he referring to Davis and the others just dropping off take-out for him?  Again with the questions.

There was an odd, tight feeling in Andrew’s chest at the thought of someone going out with Abram, of sitting in some quiet diner or casual place, of seeing the man when he wasn’t wearing a figurative suit of armor that served to help set him apart from most of the world, a polite smile on his lips and a defensive wall of manners that kept almost everyone at arm’s length. Andrew really, really needed to find someone good at following orders, someone who would listen whom he could mutually use for twenty minutes or so, relieve some tension and get this odd fixation out of his damn head.

They finished their meal with dessert – well, with Andrew ordering something with layers and layers of flaky pastry and honey and dark chocolate, and Abram with a bowl of fresh fruit that glistened with a hint of some sweet liqueur. When they were done, they went to Le Bar du Plaza Athénée, where Stuart and Davis were already waiting for them. Stuart scoffed as soon as he saw Andrew. “What did I tell you about dressing like a midget goth, eh?”

“But now I look like a posh midget goth, yes?” Andrew shot back as he tugged on the cuffs of his Alexander McQueen coat.

Stuart was clearly gritting his teeth together when he turned to Abram, while Davis grinned. “Really?”

Abram shrugged. “I took him to Liliya, like you asked. I thought she did a good job.” He looked over Andrew, and for once, Andrew swore those pale grey eyes lingered on him. “I don’t see why you’re complaining.”

“You wouldn’t,” Stuart grumbled. “I still remember how you showed up at our doorstep.” Then he seemed to check himself, especially when Abram’s slight smile smoothed out to a bland mask. “Suppose it could be worse, he could dress up like Ally.” That remark made Davis laugh and brought back Abram’s tiny smile; Andrew hadn’t met William Hatford’s son yet, but from what he heard, there was a good reason Jamie was considered the heir to the organization and not Allistair  ‘Ally’’ Hatford.

Abram went over to the long, curved clear marble bar and ordered something in French, which turned out to be a very smooth whiskey on the rocks for Andrew and a glass of red wine for himself. Then they headed over to the area with the high backed, dark blue booths to wait for Sabine to arrive; once they were there, Stuart gave a very general review of his day, enough to indicate that a few minor problems had been found and dealt with, all with a minimum of fuss. Andrew noticed that Davis’ knuckles appeared a bit reddened as a result.

“Hmm, mostly done going over the accounts with Sabine,” Abram commented after another sip of his wine. “So far everything is on the up and up, so no signs of tampering or leaks.”

“That’s a relief, even if it means that poor Andrew is being bored for nothing.”

Andrew shrugged while he finished off his whiskey. “Gives me a chance to work on my cardio before we return to London and he tries to run another damn marathon one morning,” he told Stuart.

Davis groaned in obvious sympathy. “He did that to you, too? There’s something in those Hatford genes of yours, I’m just saying,” he told his boss. “You’re all lunatics.”

Stuart gave him a rude gesture before waving over a server for another round of drinks. “What does that say for you sorry sods who work for us?”

Andrew was wondering how long he’d have to put up with this – hearing Stuart and Davis mock each other was better than the rambling of Nicky’s coworkers, but soon enough Sabine would arrive and he’d be stuck with a half-French, half-English conversation around accounting and number and a bunch of other boring shit. He was looking forward to returning to London and the prospect of beating up people again, extravagant hotels with well-stocked bars and luxurious beds aside.

They’d just gotten their second round of drinks, Abram frowning a little at the new glass of wine, when Sabine arrived in a cloud of some jasmine-scented perfume and with a strange Asian man in her wake– an older Asian man trailed by several other Asian men, if Andrew was any judge of bodyguards, which he was getting rather good at after dealing with Riko Moriyama and now looking after Abram.

“Gentlemen, my apologies for being late but as you can see, I ran into our esteemed colleague,” Sabine offered as she gestured to the man standing behind her; Andrew noticed how Abram’s expression smoothed out to a polite mask and Stuart’s smile slipped away, and stood up straighter as he set his glass aside on the top of the nearest booth so he could have better access to his knives. However, Davis gave a quick, light tap to his right arm and a subtle shake of his head. Huh, whoever the guy was, he wasn’t a target, obviously.

The man, who appeared in his forties, maybe, with a little grey in his close-cropped hair, face mostly unlined except a few faint wrinkles in his eyes, a couple of inches taller than Abram and mostly in decent shape, smiled first at Sabine and then at Stuart. “Stuart, you’re looking well.”

“And you, too, Jain.” Stuart smiled at the man, the expression more polite than anything, and nodded at Davis then Andrew. “I believe you know Davis Petch already, and this is Andrew Minyard. Andrew, I’d like you to meet Jain - Jain Wei.”

Andrew gave the man a slight nod; he had the impression from the man’s suit and attitude that he didn’t bother with the ‘muscle’ like him. No, Jain barely paid any attention to him and instead smiled at Abram, the expression much warmer than what he’d gifted Stuart with, and spoke in Chinese for about a minute or two.

Abram stared at him with that polite smile the entire time, head slightly cocked to the side as he sipped his wine, the wine he’d set aside when the server had brought it out, once or twice. Then he responded to Jain in the same language, while Sabine smiled at the two men and Andrew noticed that Stuart’s shoulders grew tense.

Jain laughed at whatever Abram said then spoke; whatever he said made Abram start drinking his wine in all seriousness, while Andrew caught a quick wince from Davis and Stuart’s fingers clenched around his tumbler of bourbon. When Andrew frowned at Davis, there was another subtle shake of the head. Abram got about halfway through his wine glass when Jain finished, gave a short reply which made Jain smile in a way that set warnings off in Andrew’s head, especially since there was a plain gold band which looked an awful lot like a wedding ring on the man’s left hand, and then Jain turned a much more subdued smile toward Stuart. “I hope you’ll forgive me, but I’m passing through on my way to Nigeria in the morning. If I may borrow your nephew for the evening to catch up on a few things?”

“I don’t see how that would be a problem.” Stuart stared at Abram, who was finishing the last of his wine. “Ram?”

“It’s fine,” he answered his uncle. “I’ll see you tomorrow.” His smile was the polite mask that Andrew had never seen him turn on the man before, and there was a faint tremble to his hand, almost unnoticeable, as he set the empty glass aside.

Andrew started to call out the Brit’s name, but Davis cut him off, his grip tight on Andrew’s left arm, as Abram went off with Jain, the older man’s left hand falling to the small of his back in a clearly possessive gesture. The bodyguards fell in step around them, cutting off Andrew’s view of them.

“Well, who wants to buy me a drink?” Sabine asked in her accented voice, her smile faltering when Stuart gave her a cold look. After a moment, he shifted his gaze to Davis and waved the man at the Frenchwoman before he left toward the bar. Andrew ignored the other two and went after him.

Stuart – or more likely, his intimidating air – scared away a young couple, and Andrew was quick to take advantage of the empty chair beside the older man. “So what the hell is going on?” he demanded to know as Stuart held up his hand for them to be served; somehow, the bartender remembered their order, because a whiskey, neat, and a bourbon, also neat, was soon placed down in front of them. “Why did Abram go off with that man? And why the fuck did you let him?” That in no way appeared consensual to Andrew.

“Did you miss the fact where Ram’s a fucking adult?” Stuart countered once he’d drained about half of the bourbon.

“Did you miss the fact that the asshole had four bodyguards?” And for some reason, Davis hadn’t wanted Andrew to act – meaning *Stuart* hadn’t wanted Andrew to act. “What does he have on you?”

Stuart huffed at that. “Quite a lot. He reports straight up to Xue.” When Andrew frowned, knowing that he’d heard the name before, often from Abram, Stuart shook his head. “That’s our strongest alliance, you little prick. When things fell through with… well, you know, we needed something else. Someone else.” He stared into his half-empty glass for a couple of seconds before he finished the drink.

When things fell through with the Moriyamas, in other words. The Hatfords made some sort of arrangement with this Xue guy, and Jain Wei was one of his higher-ups, if Andrew was following. “So what, you gave him your nephew to seal the deal?” He barely got the words out before Stuart spun around to grab him by the right lapel of his coat and nearly pull him out of his high bar chair.

“Not in a million years, you fuckin’ Yank,” Stuart spat, before his fury sputtered out. “But Ram? That stupid, foolish twat?” He sighed as he sat back in his own chair and motioned for another drink from their now skittish bartender. “All it took was Jain making it known that he was interested, and Ram never put up a damn fight. By the time I figured out what was happening, it was too late.” He rubbed at his eyes, his expression now bleak.

Andrew finished off his whiskey and waved for another as well. “So let me see if I have this right,” he said as he struggled to control his own temper and not start punching people – or worse. “That idiot is what, handing himself over because….” Nope, not working, not drunk enough. “He thinks it what, helps you or something?”

“Or something,” Stuart agreed in a tone which made it clear that his nephew was indeed a massive idiot. “At the least, he won’t risk angering him and us taking a hit in the fallout.”

“Would the bastard do that to you?” Because there were ways around that, in Andrew’s mind. The bloodier, the better.

Stuart shrugged. “Not sure, but again, Ram won’t risk it. Thinks the easiest thing is just to go along, bend over and smile.” He grimaced and grabbed the fresh drink put down in front of him as if to wash away a bad taste in his mouth.

Andrew had to take several deep breaths to get through the rage upon hearing that. “I thought he wasn’t… he doesn’t seem the type.”

Stuart paused in decimating his latest bourbon to glare at Andrew. “And what type would that be?”

“Any type,” Andrew admitted as he grabbed his own refill. “He never… any type.” So much for Abram being Ace, he supposed.

That provoked a bitter laugh from the older man. “That’s just it.” The rest of the drink was finished before Stuart elaborated what the hell that meant. “As far as I can tell, the bloody idiot doesn’t have one. There was-“ He stopped suddenly and slammed the glass down so he could rub at his face. “Something bad happened, and he didn’t seem interested in any of that. Then Jain came along. Still doesn’t seem interested in any of that, but there’s Jain.”

Andrew took that in, gestured for another drink and didn’t say anything as he waited for his glass to be replaced and then tossed back its contents as if the alcohol was water. He had to set the empty tumbler down with care, because it would be too easy to smash it back down, to throw it either at Stuart or at all the sparkling glass bottles on the opposite wall. “I’m going back to the suite,” he told Stuart in a tight, quiet voice as he struggled to prevent himself from screaming at the man, from pulling out his knives and demanding to know where Jain was staying. “I believe it’s a very good thing if I’m left alone right now.”

“You think we don’t give a damn about him, don’t you?” Stuart asked in a rough voice as he stared into his own empty tumbler. “That we just turn a blind eye when he goes off with that bastard?”

“You didn’t stop him,” Andrew ground out as his hands clenched into fists and he stood up, desperate to keep from lashing out.

Stuart’s laugh just then was a broken thing. “Oh, you’re almost as much a bloody fool as he is. Just wait, you little prick. Just wait until you really have to stop him from doing something when he makes up that fool head of his. His mother’s child he is.” It looked as if tears shimmered in Stuart’s pale eyes for a moment, before he closed them. “Fucking Christ, Mary, what you didn’t do to him,” he cursed beneath his breath, then rubbed at his face.

Andrew didn’t know who ‘Mary’ was, but he could take a guess. “Seems to me you’re doing that great a job yourself, _Uncle_.”

Stuart just laughed again, the sound just as broken and brittle as before. “What’s that stupid nursery song? ‘All the king’s horses and all the king’s men’? Nobody’s going to fix Ram at this point, too many of us had a hand in fucking him up and he’s gone and finished the job.” He held up his empty glass to Andrew in a mockery of a salute. “But if an equally fucked up Yank like you wants to try, be my guest. It’ll be fun watching, yeah? Like seeing that fancy car of yours slam into a brick wall at top speed.”

The comment earned the old bastard the middle finger before Andrew stomped away, out of the now crowded bar and toward the nearest elevator. His foul mood must have been evident, since people huddled on the far side of the small enclosure away from him, rather than stand anywhere near him.

Once he reached the suite he shared with Abram, he poured himself a very full glass of whiskey and downed it before he changed out of the suit, into a more comfortable pair of pants and a soft t-shirt. He nursed a few more drinks while he read a book, determined to wait up for Abram, the anger simmering inside of him the entire time. It took all of his willpower to not go out and track down Jain Wei, to do something that he realized would be stupid, but… dammit. He couldn’t help but wonder what that ‘bad’ thing was that had happened to Abram. Or how old Abram was when Jain took an interest in him; as far as Andrew could tell, Abram was at least a year younger than himself, and Andrew had just turned twenty-six.

He got up a couple of times to have a cigarette out on the balcony, his thoughts far from the lights sparkling in front of him, the scenic views that Nicky had freaked out about when Andrew had taken a couple of pictures to get the idiot to shut up and stop texting him when he’d first arrived. Paris hadn’t been a big deal to him when he’d first seen it, and now there was a sour taste in his mouth because of what had happened down at the bar, was a ghost memory of hands holding him down and a voice whispering in his ear about what a good boy he was as he stared out at the Eiffel Tower. Yeah, he would be perfectly fine if he never came back here again. Somehow it wouldn’t be the same, sleeping on such an expensive bed, when he thought about what was happening in another room above or below him.

It was almost two o’clock in the morning when Abram returned, the soft ‘click’ of the door opening and closing the only sound the young man made as he crept inside. Andrew sat there on one of the couches, his glass in one hand and e-reader in another, and watched as Abram entered the suite, immaculately dressed but hair tousled, eyes glazed as if he was seeing something in his head and not what was in front of him. There were marks on his neck, too high for the collar of his shirt to cover, and he didn’t say a word, didn’t acknowledge Andrew as he went over to the bar to pour what looked to be a very tall glass of gin, which he drank straight down. Once he was finished, he set the glass on top of the bar with a soft ‘clink’ and went directly into his bedroom, closing the door behind him; Andrew thought he heard the lock click into place as well.

Andrew waited a few minutes just to be certain, then refilled his own glass before he retreated to his own bedroom for the night. It seemed that dealing with the fallout would have to wait until tomorrow.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> Yeah.
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> I feel like Neil/Abram is just so fucked up. Well, he is. There had to be a reason why Mary never stayed with her family after she escaped Baltimore. Why she put Neil through all those years on the run. And this is what it is. Poor baby. *pets Neil/Abram* 
> 
> And he's not really a helpless shut-in, he's just focused all that energy he put toward Exy and the Foxes into the Hatfords. Into being of some use to them. To the point that he's neglecting himself.
> 
> Whereas Andrew... he's finally got a place to thrive. Finally.
> 
> Yeah.
> 
> Okay, back to Way Down We Go. Sheesh, to think THAT'S fluffy compared to this....
> 
> As always, the comments and the kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> *******


	3. 50 Shades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a warning, chapter starts off with a flashback of some not very good things, but it's not graphic and it's very short. Just skip the first paragraph if you don't want to read it.
> 
> That said, hmm, seem to be on an Andrew pov roll here. So lots of Andrew! A little Neil/Abram, but yes, lots of Andrew. Still seem to be setting up stuff, and you're getting bits of background info here, so the Andrew pov seemed to help set that up (don't ask me why, other than it seemed less info-dumpy this way?).
> 
> Hmm, and there is a stray Fox in the fic! Well, other than Nicky.  
> *******

*******

Pain, there was pain everywhere, pain tearing through Nathaniel’s body, along his hips as nails dug in, driving in deep at his- he twisted his wrists in the handcuffs, tugged hard against the restraints to make the metal bit deeper into his skin, more blood running down his arms while moist, warm breath hit the back of his neck, murmured words he could almost understand, that he refused to understand as he stared at the stained mattress beneath him and wished desperately for the degradation to end as the pain spiked even more and-

And Abram woke up gasping in his bed at Hotel Plaza Athénée, with the crisp, fine linen beneath and around him, the plastered ceiling above him and the scent of fresh flowers in the air. It was a far cry from the awful room in the apartment back in North Tottenham, which helped to break him from the dream… well, that and he realized that his right fingers were digging into his left wrist, which explained the pain he was feeling. He cursed slightly as he forced his fingers to let go, and winced at the new marks left on the thick scar tissue. A bit of blood welled up in a couple of spots where his nails had broken through, so he forced himself to get out of bed and go tend to the wounds.

Dammit, he should have brought his leather wristbands with him, since his armbands tended to slide up during the night, but he hadn’t been expecting Jain to show up. Hadn’t expected the nightmares to get so bad. He could prepare himself better if he knew he’d have to deal with Jain… but there were occasions when they ran into each other like last night, when Jain was sent in for someone else or out to check up on something. Abram didn’t like it when that happened.

Not for the first time, he wished that Jain wasn’t so… he wished that Jain was rougher. Was less considerate. Because pain Abram understood. Pain had been the one constant in his life for as long as he could remember, from the fearful years with his father to the anxious ones on the run with his mother. He didn’t understand what Jain got out of their encounters, why the man kept insisting on them when anyone could do what Abram had done last night – and someone much more attractive at that. Someone with a better face, an unscarred body, who wasn’t filthy and hopeless and boring. Someone who didn’t look like a monster. Who wasn’t a monster.

He refused to look at his reflection while he patched up his wrist with stuff from the small bag he’d brought along in his travel kit, and once that was done went out on the small balcony attached to his bedroom despite the light rain; he had to stay beneath the slight overhang to have a cigarette. A tiny smile tugged at his lips as he thought about Andrew’s indignation over how he ‘smoked’ it – or not, really - and then there were thoughts of that awful night back in California, and he couldn’t stare out onto the lights of the city without thinking of the stars reflecting on the waves as he waited for the flames to die down enough so he could bury his mother’s body. Of her warning him about what would happen if he ever stopped running.

Well, he had stopped running, and she had been right. Nothing had really gotten any better, had it? There was Stuart and Jamie… and obligations and debts and a past he could never escape. Maybe that was why he still felt the urge to run so much, to just start moving and not stop in the hopes that he could outpace the pain and the demons and the nightmares.

It never worked, but as the cigarette burned out, Abram stepped out into the rain and dropped it into the air, then just stood there until he was thoroughly soaked and chilled to the bone, until he was utterly numb before he went to change so he could break into the workout room and do whatever bit of running he still could.

*******

Andrew woke up in the morning to the faint sound of rain; the room was still dark and other than the muffled sounds from outside, very faint due to the height of their floor and the earliness of the morning, things were otherwise quiet. Too quiet. He got up out of the very luxurious bed and unlocked his bedroom door to enter the main area of the extravagant suite only to find it empty. He hesitated for a moment before checking the door to Abram’s bedroom, and wasn’t surprised to find it unlocked and the room unoccupied.

The fucking idiot. Andrew internally seethed for a few seconds before he returned to his own room to change clothes before he left the suite and then went downstairs; he had an idea where his ‘friend’ had went off to, so he’d check there first. If Abram wasn’t there… yeah. Check the work-out room first.

Fortunately for Abram, the idiot was on the treadmill, looking about five minutes away from collapsing; Abram’s long sleeved t-shirt was soaked through with sweat and his face haggard. Andrew watched from off to the side for about a minute while Abram seemed lost in his own little world before sneaking up and slapping the emergency stop on the control panel.

It was almost hilarious, seeing Abram struggle to avoid slamming face-first into the control panel as the treadmill suddenly stopped. When he managed to stand upright, he turned to glare at Andrew, who stood there with his arms crossed across his chest and an unimpressed look on his face. “What the hell are you doing?”

“That’s my question,” Andrew said as he looked the idiot up and down. “Did you not hear your wannabe boss tell you to not go anywhere by yourself?”

Abram huffed as he slicked back the wet hair falling onto his flushed face. “I’m staying inside the hotel, and it’s not even six o’clock in the morning. I highly doubt there’s any of the Moriyamas’ men lurking around right now.”

“Are you so sure about that?” Andrew asked as he looked around empty room. “Seems to me that now would be the perfect time to do something to your stupid ass.”

“Could you just….” Abram leaned his forearms against the console and hunched over it. “I really don’t want to talk about such things right now.” There was too much tension in his lean form just then, his legs trembling and those marks flushed dark on his neck.

Andrew sighed as he pulled Abram from the treadmill, mindful not to touch his wrist. “Come on.” Abram made a faint sound of protest, either at Andrew’s hand on his left arm or at being led away, but settled once he seemed to be trailing after Andrew and so was let go. They both were quiet on the elevator ride back up to their suite, and after taking in Abram’s rather sweaty state, Andrew told him to wash off and then join him back in the ‘living’ area.

While he waited, Andrew called room service for some coffee and a light breakfast for them both, and wasn’t surprised when it arrived before Abram finished with his shower, joining him with damp hair and dressed in a pair of loose grey cotton pants and a dark grey sweater that looked both very soft and rather large on the man’s lean frame.

Abram fetched a cup of coffee but didn’t bother with anything to eat, just settled on the one couch opposite from Andrew with his long legs curled up beneath him. His expression was still too blank, the easy smile he’d taken to wearing in Andrew’s presence gone and the shadows back in his eyes.

Yeah, somehow it all wasn’t a surprise. Andrew paused to drink some more coffee and finish off his croissant before he leaned back in the couch. “We going to be here much longer?”

The question seemed to startle Abram, who just barely avoided spilling his coffee. He appeared to think a little before he shrugged. “Probably another couple of days, unless Uncle Stuart runs into any problems.”

“That’s good.” Andrew had some more coffee. “Jain going to be here for any of them?”

Abram flinched at the mention of the Chinese man. “No,” he said after a few seconds’ pause. “He was to leave this morning.” He stared off at nothing for another few seconds and then drank the rest of his coffee. “I feel tired, I’m going to-“

Andrew cut him off. “ _I’m_ getting tired of not knowing anything,” he said with a bit of heat. “So this is what we’re going to do. I ask you a question and you tell me the truth, and then you get to ask something and I do the same.” He stared across the room at Abram, who had gone still. “If the question is too much, you can pass, but you don’t get to ask something unless you tell the truth.” He had thought about it all last night, about how there were all these secrets, about how Abram avoided anything important and Andrew allowed it because he had secrets of his own. It couldn’t keep continuing like that, not if this was going to be Andrew’s new life.

There was silence for a minute or two, but Abram didn’t get up and leave. At least, he didn’t go into his bedroom, because after a while he did get up to pour himself some more coffee. “We get to ask anything?”

“Only what the other person allows,” Andrew explained.

That time, Abram picked up a small scone before returning to the couch. “Did you really not want to play Exy professionally?” he asked as he sat back down, his legs once more tucked up beneath him and those grey eyes of his intent on Andrew.

That wasn’t quite the question that Andrew had expected to have been asked – there were more personal ones, especially when he thought about what all Stuart knew about his past. But maybe Abram was feeling him out, was seeing what was off limits and what wasn’t. “No,” Andrew admitted. “Exy was always a means to an end for me. It allowed me some privileges when I was in juvie, and it got me the scholarship at Palmetto State – for me and for my brother and cousin.” He hesitated a moment before he continued. “I also had an agreement with my coach – David Wymack – that I could play without medication for any games while I was still under court order to stay on the drugs. But once I graduated… I didn’t feel enough for it to continue playing.” He never felt the thrill that Kevin had promised would be there once he got off the drugs.

Abram’s cold mask thawed a little as he considered that and probably all of the possibilities Andrew had just handed him, while Andrew sipped his coffee and debated his own question; there were so many, such as what had happened to fuck up the man so much, what the hell was going on with Jain Wei, why the Moriyamas were determined to get to Abram, why he was altering his own appearance… but he also settled for a good ‘tester’ question. “Why do you back Jamie so much?”

Abram’s breath caught at that and he set the mug of coffee as well as the untouched scone aside so he could tuck his legs a bit more beneath him. “Because she’s good for the family.” At Andrew’s flat look, Abram sighed. “That’s… there’s more to it, the answer.” His slender fingers tugged at his damp hair. “Things… things happened.”

“Things happened with you,” Andrew took a guess.

Abram flinched at that. “In part, yes.” He closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. “I was a convenient excuse, but yes, I was involved. A helpful distraction, you could say.” He gave out a bitter laugh. “Or the tinder to set off a nice explosion. Regardless, a stand had to be made, and it was – in large part with Jamie, Stuart and Henry.”

Andrew frowned at that. “Who’s Henry?” He hadn’t heard of any Henry Hatford as of yet – at least, he assumed that the man was a Hatford, considering the other two mentioned.

“Exactly.” Abram rubbed at his face. “He was Jamie’s older brother, Will’s son.” When his hands fell away, his expression was solemn. “I met him once, he was… well, up til then, everyone expected him to take over, and there were no issues with it. Then he died while fighting some of the Moriyamas’ people.”

Had died in part because of Abram, or at least that was how Andrew was certain Abram chose to see it. “So Jamie’s the heir by default?”

Abram glared at him for that. “She’s the heir because she managed to send my- she salvaged a terrible situation and she’s proven herself to be just as qualified as Henry if not better. She’s not Henry, no one is, she’ll never be her parents’ firstborn son, but she’s gifted and giving everything she has to this family. If anyone wants to object just because she’s a woman, they’re idiots.”

Hmm, just what had Abram been about to say before he caught himself back there? Andrew had no doubts that his friend believed in the woman, and the little Andrew had seen of her, she wasn’t one to be messed with. He didn’t give much of a damn who led the Hatfords and how they got the job, as long as they were good at it.

He got up to fetch some more coffee, the drink strong yet not too bitter, and took his time adding the cream and sugar as well as fetched another croissant. By the time he sat back down, Abram stared at him with something akin to annoyance. “Do you really want to know about Jamie? Is that why you proposed this question game?”

Andrew took a bite of the flaky, buttery pastry before he answered. “Figured we could start small. Not like you asked me something too personal to begin with, either.”

“But that’s-“ Abram closed his eyes, his left hand rising to tug at the collar of his sweater as if it would hide the marks on his throat. “Everyone already knows about my past. They know everything.” And those facts obviously caused Abram a good bit of pain.

“Yet they don’t talk too much about you,” Andrew informed the man. “They’re making it clear that your past is your past.” And Andrew could respect that even as it drove him crazy.

“So what, you want to know about my past from me?” Abram opened those pale eyes of his – whatever his true color, it had to be something similar for the contacts to work so well – to give Andrew a scathing look. “I didn’t realize you were such a gentleman.” It was amazing how skilled Abram was at sarcasm.

Andrew shrugged while he popped the last bit of the croissant into his mouth. “Seems to me that your uncle did a very thorough background check on me. Why didn’t you ask him for the report?”

Things were quiet for about a minute before Abram raised his mug in the air. “Touché,” he offered before he took another sip. “So another round of questions?”

“Only if you want.” Andrew figured he’d wait and see where Abram went with things.

The Brit chewed at his bottom lip for a moment. “How long are you intending to stay? This can’t be your ideal job, watching over me.”

Andrew paused for a sip of coffee before he answered. “I was under the impression that this wasn’t the type of employment that you could walk away from.”

Abram sighed at that and set the mug aside so he could wrap his hands around his knees. “No, but… you could always ask Uncle Stuart to do something else. Or… I don’t know.” He appeared rather young just then, huddled in the corner of the couch with his hair falling onto his face, his expression guarded and lean body twisted about in such a defensive position.

“How long are the Moriyamas and their people going to keep coming after you?” Andrew asked, which prompted a weak, unamused laugh from Abram. “I’m supposed to watch over you to keep you safe from them, yes?”

“Good luck with that, because it’s never going to end,” Abram admitted. “Not until either they finally get their hands on me, I end up dead or someone wipes them out.” He made it sound like the first option was the most likely to happen.

“Then there you have it,” Andrew told him. “I’m with you until someone wipes them out.” When Abram gave him an incredulous look in return, he shrugged. “What? Your uncle made it clear, I keep you safe from the bastards. That doesn’t end until their gone.” He gave him a flat look back while he sipped his coffee.

Abram huffed as he tucked back the hair falling onto his face. “Well, you’re in it for the long haul, then, or until someone figures out how insane you are,” he muttered.

“Not the kind of thing you should be saying to the man who’s ensuring you stay alive,” Andrew pointed out, even though he took some gratification in seeing how Abram wasn’t all huddled over anymore. “Now my turn.” Well, hadn’t been all huddled over. “Why do the Moriyamas want you?”

It wasn’t as intrusive a question that he could have asked, but it was starting to get to the heart of the matter. Abram went still and his eyes grew hazy for a moment, as if he was lost in memories, and his voice was quiet when he spoke. “They believe that they own me,” he said after almost a minute. At Andrew’s frown, he shook his head. “My father gave me to them.”

That didn’t fully answer everything, since it left out ‘why’ Abram’s father had given his son to the Moriyamas – Andrew knew such things happened, knew that Jean Moreau had been given to them and one or two other Ravens as well. But yes, _why_? And outstanding debt? A business arrangement? A way to repay a mistake or calm down one of those bastards’ tempers? To form an alliance of sorts? Instead, he just asked one more thing. “You said your father. What about your mother?”

Abram’s smile took on a bitter edge. “Well, she had a difference of opinion about it, and that’s in part why my uncle hired you. I came to my mother’s family for their protection from the Moriyamas since the Hatfords refuse to give me up, and…..” He shook his head. “I’m not the only bone of contention between the two, but yes, I’m one of them.”

Again, that answer raised so many more questions, such as who the hell was Abram’s father, how had his mother been involved with the man and what had happened to the woman? Andrew knew that she was dead, but that was about it.

He almost asked another question, but the tension was back in Abram’s body just then, so he decided to leave it at that; better chance of getting more answers at a later date. “So what are we doing today?”

The question made Abram stir a little, since it was a change from what had been going on before. “Ah, I’ll try to finish up going through Sabine’s books,” he said after a few seconds. “Might be able to wrap it up today, even.” He fished his phone out of the pocket of his pants and looked at it, before he set it aside and picked up the neglected scone instead. “I’ll start soon.” He ate the pastry in a few bites before getting up from the couch.

That meant Andrew had probably missed out on his chance to work out, unless Stuart and Davis came over for a little while to stay with Abram so he could head downstairs… but somehow, he had the feeling that Abram wasn’t in the mood for much company that day.

So after having another cup of coffee, he improvised a workout in the living area, doing pushups and situps and stretches for over an hour while Abram brought out his computer and got to work; if he noticed the occasional glance from pale grey eyes… he focused on his work-out. So what if he maybe ‘focused’ a little too much, what with the one-armed pushups and everything.

Abram was quiet until Andrew came back out, showered off and dressed in jeans and a jersey, both black. The Brit motioned to the room’s phone. “I, ah, ordered some more coffee and breakfast. Figured you’d be hungry after all of that.”

“Thanks.” Andrew didn’t say anything else as he went out onto the balcony to have a cigarette, now that the rain had stopped.

He really wanted to ask Abram what the hell was going on with Jain, if he liked men or what, but he had a feeling that anything in regards to the Chinese man just then would put an end to their new ‘game’. Stuart had said that Abram hadn’t seemed interested in anybody before Jain – at least, that was what Andrew had picked up – but there was also that ‘something bad’ which had happened.

So damn frustrating. Especially since now it seemed that Abram was willing to pretend that last night hadn’t happened.

Andrew had one cigarette and started on the other when there was a knock on the door, which made him go back inside and deal with room service, a glare directed Abram’s way for trying to answer the door himself.

“I’m able to do a few things,” Abram grumbled once the young man was gone. “And your French is atrocious.”

“Good thing he understands English, then,” Andrew said as he began removing lids from the trays; Abram had ordered the waffles for him, and there were bowls of whipped cream and fresh fruit along with thick bacon slices and eggs benedict. “Hey, one more question. What languages do you speak?” That had been bothering him for a while.

Abram paused in picking up a plate as if wondering if he should answer it, then shrugged. “French, German, Mandarin, Russian, Spanish, Portuguese, Japanese, and Romanian well enough to translate,” he said as he grabbed some of the eggs and bacon, along with another scone. “Cantonese, Ukrainian, Flemish and Italian enough to get by to various degrees.”

That… made Andrew’s brain hurt to hear that. “So what, you really haven’t done anything but work and study for the past how many years?”

“It’s-“ Abram set his plate down by his laptop and sighed. “I already knew a few before I came to live with my uncle. Learning languages… it always came easy to me.” He shrugged as if being a linguist was a simple thing. “Seems to me that you’d learn them rather easily yourself, considering how you haven’t forgotten anything that anyone’s shown you yet.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed at that. “What do you mean?”

“Your memory.” When Andrew didn’t say anything, Abram sighed again and got up to pour himself some more coffee. “I’ve never seen anyone figure out the streets of London so quickly, yet you only need to drive or follow someone around once to get them down. You remember everyone’s name with ease, the security codes… should I go on?” When Andrew just ate his pancakes, Abram made an amusing growl of frustration. “All right, that’s my question. Do you have an eidetic memory?”

Impressive. “I haven’t had anyone pick up on it that fast,” Andrew admitted. “Yes.” It meant that Abram was paying him more attention that Andrew had realized, which… hmm, he would need to think on that.

Things were quiet for a few minutes while they ate their breakfast. “So you think I could learn something?”

Abram pushed aside his plate at Andrew’s question. “Good memory and intelligence? Yes, I think you could pick up a language rather quickly.”

Andrew wasn’t used to someone having such a positive opinion about him or his abilities. “All right – would help during times like these when I’m not doing that much.” On the whole he didn’t mind being paid to do little, but yes, a distraction would be good.

Abram smiled, the expression slight but there. “Which one do you want to learn? All my books and things are back at the apartment, but there’s stuff online we can get you started with if you’re that bored today.”

French would make sense, considering where they were, but after last night… “Chinese.”

His choice didn’t make Abram so much as blink. “Mandarin, then, taking into account our colleagues. A good choice, since we deal with them so often.” He took a sip of coffee. “You brought your laptop, yes?”

“Yeah.”

“Then I can send you some files to get you started.” Abram returned his mostly empty plate to the cart, refilled his mug and then sat back down in front of his own laptop, where he resumed typing. “Let me know if you have any questions or need any help.”

Andrew stared at him for a few seconds, a bit surprised that Abram was going along with things so readily. “If it’s a problem, you don’t have to do this.” Did he want something in return for doing it?

“It’s not a problem.” Abram shrugged as he continued to type. “We’ll be traveling to Shanghai at some point, and we deal with several customers from China. It’ll be a benefit if you can learn the language.” He stared at the screen in front of him for a few seconds before he shrugged again. “If you pick it up fast enough, we’ll throw Russian into the mix.” Then he looked up at Andrew and gave a slight smile. “Your German isn’t that bad, so maybe there’s some hope for you.”

“Fuck you,” Andrew told him in his ‘not bad’ German.

“Hmm, no thanks,” Abram replied as his smile faded away, yet he continued typing. “There, that should keep you busy for the next few days.”

Andrew went to fetch his own laptop, and powered it up while finishing his breakfast. He sipped some coffee while looking over the files that Abram had sent, then fetched his headphones and went over to the couch to begin the lessons.

Obviously, Mandarin wasn’t anything like German, but he found the language interesting and it helped the next two days go by quickly. Stuart stopped by the first evening to check on Abram, nervousness evident in his demeanor, which made the visit rather short and uncomfortable for his nephew, but invited Abram (and Andrew) out to dinner the next night. They went to some small restaurant that was private and quiet and didn’t list any prices on the menu that was all in French, so Andrew figured he didn’t want to know how much things cost. Stuart and Davis already knew their orders, and Abram was kind enough to help Andrew with the few French words he hadn’t figured out yet.

“So, just heard from Will,” Stuart said after their appetizer, some fancy cheese and bread plate, was finished. “He wants the two of you to go back to Stuttgart.”

Abram arched an eyebrow at that announcement. “Any particular reason why, considering how he pulled me from there not too long ago?”

“Xue’s sending someone else there.” Stuart shook his head as he spoke. “Not another Russian, some Chinese fellow, ties to… well, he’s important enough that Xue doesn’t want him to wait. So you go show him around,” he told Abram, “and you make sure nothing bad happens, yeah?” he told Andrew.

“Do I get to call Micha to clean up any messes?” Andrew asked as he refilled his wineglass.

“You can put him on your damn auto-dial, how about that?” Stuart said as he leaned back in his chair. “Just don’t leave any damn witnesses, especially if they’re smart-ass midgets, yeah?”

“One damn time,” Abram muttered as he finished the wine in his glass. “And you _hired_ him.”

“Which means we’re at our quota so no more.”

Davis leaned over toward Andrew. “Are you feeling the love yet?” he said in a mock whisper.

“I’m certainly feeling something,” Andrew confessed. “But I thought my therapists said it was a bad emotion and not to give in to it when around sharp objects. Go figure.”

“Ha, those quacks don’t know anything,” Davis said with a dismissive wave of his right hand. “Mine tried to tell me that I burned things down because of deep-seated issues with abandonment. I did it because I just liked to see things burn, the stupid shit.”

Abram sighed as he pried the bottle of wine from Andrew’s left hand. “We really need to reconsider our hiring policies,” he told his uncle while he refilled his wineglass.

“Eh, at least they never bother us about mental health insurance,” Stuart pointed out as he waved the server over then pointed at the now empty bottle of wine.

Abram buried his face in his hands for a moment, then slicked back his hair. “All right, enough of that. So Andrew and I are going to Stuttgart, alone I take it?”

Stuart paused for a moment. “Ally will meet you there.”

That statement kicked off a spat of low and vicious swearing in several different languages from Abram before he drained the entire glass of wine, which made Stuart wince and Andrew watch on in interest; Davis leaned in again, this time all traces of humor gone from his broad yet handsome face. “Good luck with that.”

“When do we leave?” Andrew asked, since it looked as if Abram was doing his best to control his temper at the moment; the Brit was holding on to his wineglass in a manner that made it clear he was _just_ resisting the urge to throw it at something.

“Tomorrow,” Stuart answered, which kicked off another spat of swearing. “Oh come on, it’s not that bad.”

“Calais,” Abram hissed, right before their server returned with a bottle of wine.

Stuart winced and told the older man to bring another bottle. “All right, I stand corrected. But he’s a year older now, a year… okay, he’s a year older now, and Jamie tore him a right proper one for that. Will’s promised me that he gave a good talking to the lad, and Ally will be on his best behavior.”

Davis made a choking sound upon hearing that, while Abram – two glasses of wine at the most Abram -  filled his glass to the brim with wine. Andrew glanced back and forth at the two of them and pulled out his phone. “What’s Micha’s number?” He had a feeling he’d be needing it.

“I hate Will sometimes, I really do,” Stuart muttered, right before he snatched up Andrew’s phone and typed in the enforcer/cleaner’s number into it.

Andrew had the pleasure of seeing a rather tipsy Abram back to their room, something made a bit difficult since Abram cringed any time he was touched, and Andrew swore he even went for his knives twice before he remembered that it was Andrew attempting to guide him out of the taxi or into the elevator. Andrew called out a reminder about their flight the next morning before Abram slammed his bedroom door shut and locked it, then went to bed himself.

At least Abram didn’t seem too bad off the next day, once more immaculately dressed in a dark grey suit and a bit quiet, but he didn’t completely ignore Andrew as they checked out of the hotel and made their way to the airport.

Since they had taken the Chunnel to France and then continued by train to Paris, it was Abram’s first time traveling by plane with Andrew. “Oh hell, you’re nervous about flying?”

“Shut up,” Andrew snapped as he clutched at the arm rests of his chair.

Abram sighed. “Just have a couple of drinks, all right? I highly doubt anything is going to happen mid-air and Micha is meeting us at the airport.”

“But I’m-“ Andrew made an abortive motion at his forearms, at the missing armbands.

Abram sighed again. “Give me your bloody passport as soon as you land, all right?” He gave a brief tug at the sleeves of his light grey dress shirt, just enough to expose the black armbands he wore beneath, which left Andrew feeling rather annoyed – _his_ were tucked into his luggage.

“How?”

“Hatford,” was all Abram said before he waved over the nearest flight attendant, who was carrying a tray of some type of champagne.

“Your uncle is a bastard,” Andrew ground out, right before he ordered a double whiskey, neat, and accepted a glass of champagne to hold him over until it arrived

“I won’t argue, especially if he didn’t let you know of that particular perk.” Abram resumed typing away at his laptop. “Now drink enough to stop being a distraction.”

“Your empathy, it amazes me,” Andrew drawled before he drained the damn champagne.

“Shut up before I stab you,” Abram shot back, illustrating that ‘remarkable’ empathy.

Somehow they survived the flight without killing each other, and Andrew only had a slight buzz by the time they landed. Micha was indeed waiting for them, and one look at Abram had him scrambling to grab their luggage and get them into the car, which was odd, because he looked much the same to Andrew.

They ended up at the same hotel where Andrew had stayed at last time, which seemed to annoy Abram. “We needed somewhere with appropriate suites,” Micha explained.

“Yes, yes,” Abram sighed. “Whatever.” He didn’t seem very pleased, though.

They ended up on the sixth floor, and found out that they’d be meeting their ‘customers’, Fang Qing and Fang Ju the next day, so they had the afternoon and evening to themselves. Since there wasn’t much to do… Andrew checked with Abram and then placed a call to Nicky.

His cousin was ridiculously pleased to hear from him, and of course was only too happy to meet up at the Shriven Castle for a few drinks. After lunch at the hotel and a few hours of studying while Abram worked on more translations and researching their customers, they headed off to the bar – Micha drove.

“So, the Fangs?”

“Father and daughter,” Abram informed Andrew. “It looks as if the father, Qing, is expanding his assets outside of China to in part set things up for his daughter, who will be studying at Oxford come next fall. She’ll be able to check up on the investments much easier than him, and having some diversified accounts will help, over all.”

“Stuart was hinting that he’s in with the government there?”

“Oh yes, quite high ranked,” Abram agreed. “So a good bit of money for us to funnel out.” He hesitated for a moment while tugging at the cuffs of his coat. “We need to be very formal, to be helpful while not exposing our throats too much, the right amount of respectful. Your job is to protect me, which the Fangs should understand, but try not to beat them up over nothing, okay?”

Andrew was quiet for a moment. “Don’t break their hands unless they start to leave bruises?”

That earned him a smile. “Something like that. Though if Xue vetted them, they should know better.”

“I thought Xue vetted that Russian guy, too.”

Abram winced at that. “He was more… referred. I think we won’t be seeing too many like that come through any time soon.”

“Just as long as I’m not cutting some guy’s throat in an alley in the middle of the night,” Andrew argued, right before they reached the bar.

They got there a little early, and so Andrew had two glasses of whiskey and Abram one glass of wine before Nicky and Erik arrived. It was easy to tell when the pest was there, all because of the noise.

“Andrew! Oh my fucking god, what happened! You’re… you’re… oh hell you look so good!” Nicky squealed, right before he launched himself onto Andrew.

“No, you can’t kill him,” Abram murmured when Andrew sent him a much aggrieved look.

“Huh, what was that?” Nicky asked, right before Andrew shoved him away.

“Don’t touch me,” Andrew commanded as he glared at the idiot. “I haven’t even been gone a month.”

“But I missed you,” Nicky sniffed, while Erik beamed behind him. “You just upped and vanished one day.” Then he smiled. “But you look amazing now. The new job must be working out great.” He glanced over at Abram, and his smile grew even wider. “Found something to live for, eh? New job my ass. ‘Annnd Iiiii wiiillll alllwayyys lloooove yoououu…. Iiii wiiillll’- ack!” He flailed about when Andrew gave him a rough shove backwards, via his solar plexus.

Abram frowned. “Why is he singing? That song is terrible, whatever it is.”

“It’s nothing,” Andrew insisted; somehow he wasn’t surprised that Abram completely missed the reference.

Abram stared at him for a few seconds before he picked up his glass of wine and drained it in a few swallows; someone was learning, yes they were.

Meanwhile, after Erik had caught him and set him back on his feet, Nicky kept glancing back and forth between the two of them, his grin slowly growing the entire time. “Oh my god, it’s _happening_ ,” he gasped. “It’s actually _happen_ \- ow!” He huddled over when Andrew punched him in the stomach that time.

“Please don’t do that,” Erik asked as he steadied his husband by the shoulders.

“Keep your husband from being such an idiot,” Andrew shot back.

“I’m missing something here, aren’t I?” Abram said as he waved the bartender over for another glass of wine.

Andrew gave him a mocking look. “You’re missing a good bit of things, so just drink your wine and don’t worry your pretty head over it.”

Abram stared at him for a few seconds before giving him a rude gesture. “Such a fucking prat.”

“I know. You’re still an oblivious idiot, though.”

“Erik,” Nicky sang out. “Are you seeing what I’m seeing?”

“Yes, yes. Isn’t it wonderful?” Erik continued to beam at them, to the point that Andrew was hard-pressed not to punch him in the throat.

“I’m about to make it so you can’t see anything ever again,” Andrew warned, to which Nicky held up his hands in surrender, and the topic shifted to something much safer. Nicky asked about what Andrew had been doing the last couple of weeks, to which Andrew hedged a little (somehow he didn’t think Nicky wanted to hear about the torture and shit). Nicky prattled on a bit about work and started on how the rest of the Foxes were doing, until Andrew glared at him.

They shifted to general topics for a while and had something to eat, before Abram begged off with work after a couple of hours. By that point Andrew was more than happy to leave as well and head back to the hotel, considering how crowded the place was becoming. There was even some asshole who kept hovering around them as if anxious for their spot at the bar.

As soon as they got back into the car, Abram jerked a hand through his hair. “Your cousin is weird.”

“Says the man with a bunch of hitmen and criminals for family members,” Andrew shot back.

“Yes, which is why you should take my critique to heart,” Abram mumbled. As a retort, it was a good one… until they got back to Le Méridien Stuttgart and found a young man wearing an extremely garish but expensive suit waiting for them in the lobby. Between the lack of height (he was still taller than Andrew and Abram, though), the pale blue-grey eyes and light brown hair and the way he smiled at them… yeah, Andrew was going to assume that this was ‘Ally’. That he called out ‘Ram’ upon seeing them only cinched the impression.

“Ram! You look good! Well, you look like you lost even more weight, which must piss off Jamie. Really, you’re supposed to eat now and then, yeah? Or just drink. I keep drinking and my damn trousers don’t fit, it’s such a pain.” He grimaced a bit, even though he didn’t look like he had a weight problem. “Mum’s been on me about it, yeah? To stop drinking and screwing the strange girls and arseing around.”

Abram ran his hands through his hair and tugged on the long strands. “Ally… we’re in public.”

“Yeah, but they don’t speak English, right?” Ally waved aside the complaint and kept on smiling.

“Some of them do,” Abram informed him in a rather chilling tone. “So use what little brains you have for once.”

A rather mournful expression came over the young man’s handsome face as he turned to Andrew. “Still has the stick up his arse, yeah?”

No wonder this guy inspired Abram to drink. Andrew turned a little to Abram. “Do I need to call Micha about him?”

That earned him a slight smile. “Not yet.” Then Abram’s expression smoothed out. “Who’s with you?”

“Joey.” Ally motioned off to the bar, where Andrew could see the huge guy from the last time he’d been here. “I want Micha, he’s more fun to go out with, easier to pick up- hey!” Ally went wide-eyed as Abram grabbed him by the upper arm and began to ‘walk’ him toward the elevators. After a moment, Andrew began to follow, and noticed that Joey came over as well. “What’s up?”

Abram waited until they were all in the elevator – by themselves - to push his cousin up against one of the walls – it almost looked as if he was straightening Ally’s bright red tie, but Andrew noticed that Abram jerked the material a bit too tight. “Let me explain this to you,” he said in a voice that was a little too polite. “While you’re here, you won’t go off getting drunk. You won’t go off looking for some one-night stand. No ‘fun’ stuff-“

“But-“

“No ‘buts’,” Abram insisted as he leaned a little more into his cousin’s space, that deranged smile from the warehouse back on his face; Ally must have seen it before because he gulped and went pale. “Socializing is fine, but your usual fool antics? Save them for when you’re back in London. Fuck up when you’re on a job with me? I’ll explain later to Jamie why you’re missing some choice bits of flesh, yes?”

Ally attempted to shake his head. “But-“

“ _Yes_?” Abram hissed, that smile taking on an even crueler edge, and Andrew expected him to pull out a knife at any moment.

“Yes, oh fuck yes!” Ally cried out as sweat ran down his face. Meanwhile, Andrew eyed Joey, waiting to see if the man objected to Abram roughing up his… well, roughing up Ally, but all Joey did was nod as if in approval.

“Good, so nice to be in agreement,” Abram said as he released Ally’s tie and took a step back. “We’ll be meeting with the Fangs at ten am, don’t be late or I’ll cut off a toe.” He turned around just as the elevator opened up and stepped out as if nothing had happened.

Andrew again cast a glance at Joey, but all the man did was pull a slumping Ally to his feet so the Hatford could be escorted from the elevator. Assuming that all was well and as good as could be back there, Andrew went to catch up with Abram and make sure that things were fine in their own suite.

After making certain that there weren’t any surprises lurking around, Andrew removed his coat and kicked off his boots. “So, any particular reason why you scared the shit out of your cousin back there?”

Abram shrugged as he fetched a bottle of water from the well-stocked bar. “He’s a known fuck-up, and I refuse to have him mess up anything while he’s here.”

So far, that jibed with what Andrew knew about the man. “That went beyond a stern talk. Isn’t that going to piss some people off, you threatening the boss’ son?”

All Abram did was shrug.

All right, not the response Andrew was looking for at the moment. “Let me repeat myself,” he said as he went over to the bar to pour himself a whiskey. “Are people going to be angry over what you just did – angry at you and so angry at me?” That’s what he cared about at the moment.

That provoked a rather weary sigh from Abram. “No, they aren’t. Ally is known for messing things up, and because of that, he’s not considered leadership material.” He scoffed a little as he tucked back his long bangs; Andrew didn’t understand why Abram just didn’t cut his hair one day, even if he had the impulse to run his hands through the thick, wavy strands much too often. “In fact, he’ll be the first to tell you he’d be awful at leading the family.”

Andrew didn’t see how that was the answer he’d been looking for, but he’d work with it. “If Ally’s not leadership material, who is? Who’s all considered up for the position once Will steps down?” Or was forcibly retired.

The slight smile vanished from Abram’s face, to be replaced by something cold. “I’m not sure that’s part of the same question.”

“Oh, but I think it is,” Andrew argued. “I asked if anyone would be upset over you basically telling Ally Hatford you’d chop off bits of him if he didn’t behave, and you came back with he’s not fit to lead. So why are you getting away with what you just did, and who is considered fit to lead?”

Abram stared at him for several seconds then muttered beneath his breath in what sounded to be Russian – of course a language Andrew didn’t know – while he rubbed at his brow with his left hand. “Because at the moment, everyone feels that it’s up to either Jamie or me to lead the family. So no, they’re not going to give me shit for taking Ally to task.”

It was starting to come clear, why Abram was so vocal about his backing of Jamie, and why everyone Andrew had met so far who followed the Hatfords showed so much respect to Abram. “But why would they pick you over Will’s own son, even if he’s a bit of a fuck-up?” That part Andrew didn’t understand, considering what he knew about the Moriyamas and the importance of the main line.

“Now _that_ is an entirely different question,” Abram insisted with a hint of that disturbing smile. “And one that I’m not willing to answer right now. I think I’m going to work on some things in my room, I’ll see you in the morning.”

Andrew bowed his head in acceptance, unwilling to push in case it might mean that there would be no more answers, period. “What about your question?”

“I’ll ask it another time,” Abram said while he slipped into his bedroom. “Good night.”

That wasn’t frustrating in the slightest now, was it? Andrew fixed himself another drink before going to his own bedroom and working on his Mandarin a bit before falling asleep.

Abram was up before him, which wasn’t a surprise, but at least waited until Andrew was semi-coherent to go downstairs so they could work out together. After about an hour or so, they returned to the suite to clean up and order breakfast in the room, then reviewed the little bit that they knew about the Fangs before they went to meet them at the Althoff Hotel Am Schlossgarten.

Ally met them in the lobby, dressed in another garish suit, one made out of some shiny blue material, which made Andrew want to smack Stuart the next time the mobster gave him any shit over his black outfits. Ally gave Abram a rather mild look before falling in step behind the shorter man, and Joey brought up the rear.

“I’ll drive,” Joey offered, to which Andrew didn’t object since the car was another Aston Martin. Ally took one look at the back seat and then at Abram’s now blank face and offered to ride up front with the enforcer.

“Having fun scaring the guy?” Andrew asked in German as they got into the back.

“He thought it was amusing once to give a target a gun loaded with only two bullets in the chamber because he saw it in a movie. Fortunately the man was a terrible shot, but ask Cal to show you the scar one day,” Abram informed him in the same language as he tugged on the sleeves of his left coat while staring ahead of him – at where Ally was seated.

Andrew considered that for a moment. “Why is the fuck-up still alive?”

“Because he’s family, because he was seventeen at the time, and because Stuart literally kicked his ass for doing such a thing. To give him credit, he offered to let Cal shoot him in return, he felt so horrible about it, but he’s an impulsive shit who has the tendency to think it’s all fun and games.”

“And we’re stuck with him.” Andrew had a feeling he was paying for the McLaren just then.

“Yes, we are.” Abram sighed as he sat back in the leather seat of the car. “To give him some credit – not much, just some – he’s improved a little. You just have to stay on him to make sure he doesn’t backslide.”

“That’s what knives are for,” Andrew assured his friend, which earned a slight smile from the man.

It took them a little while to reach the other hotel, where Fang Qing and Ju were waiting for them in the lobby. Qing appeared like your typical middle-aged government employee, rather bland and forgettable, with greying hair and a medium build giving way to years spent working behind a desk, while Ju was in her late teens and attractive, with long black hair pulled back in a ponytail and dressed in fashionable jeans and a sweater. She seemed rather taken with Abram and Ally, which of course made Ally happy, while Abram was his usual polite, distant self.

Abram worked as a translator while Ally put on the charm, and Andrew managed to pick up the occasional word here and there while he stood off to the side and Joey waited with the car. After the introductions were finished, the three of them returned to the car while the Fangs, along with a very broad-shouldered yet short gentleman whom they hadn’t introduced, followed along and got into a Mercedes Benz sedan.

They ended up going to a vineyard owned by a Michael Okun, something about a bunch of Riesling grapes when the weather was better. Andrew wasn’t impressed by the dirt and the rows of twigs and the scattered trees, but Ju seemed to like the stone walls and the ‘quaint’ cottage house and Qing the large barn-like structures where the casks were stored and the huge vats were with the ripe smell of crushed grapes and fermenting wine. Ally and Qing had fun sampling the wares, Ju and Abram took just a couple of sips, while Andrew and Stone-face watched everything in silence and Okun babbled about varietals and soil composition and so on and so forth.

It looked as if things were going well, so after a couple of hours at the vineyard, they left Okun and went to some small restaurant for a late lunch, where Ju practiced her English with a flirtatious Ally and Abram and Qing discussed what sounded to be business, at least that’s what Andrew picked up since he’d learned numbers the other night. While he ate his meal, he kept glancing around the restaurant… and noticed a man nursing a beer over at the restaurant’s small bar. A man who appeared very similar to the one who had been hovering around them last night, before they’d left the Shriven Castle. Andrew had a few more bites before he glanced over there again, and verified that the man wore the same watch as the night before.

Huh. Somehow, he doubted it was just a coincidence.

A late lunch turned into drinks, the Fangs wanting to celebrate a little, which Ally was all for, of course, and Abram agreed with that damn polite smile of his. They didn’t go to the Shriven Castle but some expensive place that annoyed Andrew on the principle of it alone, some fancy wine bar, and Ally continued to flirt with Ju until Abram vanished into the bathroom with the idiot. When the both of them came out, Ally was still all smiles, albeit a bit strained at first, but he toned down the ‘friendliness’. Andrew caught Qing giving Abram an approving nod and murmuring something in Mandarin to him.

“He the boss?” Stone-face asked in mostly decent English, startling Andrew by speaking up for the first time that day.

“Eh?”

“The pretty boy, he the boss?” Stone-face nodded in Abram’s direction.

Well, Andrew had to admit that Abram was better looking than Ally and didn’t think it was just a personal preference – Ally apparently thought he was Beckham Jr. or something with that hairstyle, the stubble and the tattoos. That or had seen one too many modern gangster movies. “You could say that.”

“Good for you. That other one, not thinking with the right brain.”

Andrew huffed a little at that, since there wasn’t much else to say. It wasn’t much longer after the commentary when a familiar face appeared - the man from the restaurant; he’d switched out his coat, which wasn’t the least bit suspicious, but still wore the same watch and the same intent expression whenever he looked over at Abram.

Pulling out his phone, Andrew texted something to first Joey, and then to Micha. After receiving their responses, he leaned back against the bar and ordered a soda and an appetizer to help tide him over for the rest of the little ‘party’.

It took about another hour, but the Fangs were finally ready to return to their hotel; Andrew thought that Qing believed his daughter had enough for the night, especially since she was being a bit on the aggressive side after several glasses of wine.

Andrew got Ally and Abram to the car, then made a comment about leaving something in the bar and went back inside, but was able to dart out the side exit when he saw that Watch guy was already headed out the front door.

Micha was waiting for him in a black BMW sports coupe, and they spotted Watch guy pulling out in a Volkswagen hatchback to follow Joey driving off with Ally and Abram. Micha trailed the man at a safe distance, who followed the Aston Martin until it became clear that they were going back to the hotel. Then he pulled off and went to a more residential part of the town.

While Micha drove, Andrew called Bren to track down the license plate of the car, and sure enough, the owner’s residence matched where they ended up. Micha parked the BMW back a bit, so it wasn’t as noticeable, and the two of them got out to go pay Bernd Lang a visit.

There were no cameras around the door to his small apartment building, nor any security to get through, and he lived on the second floor. Micha kept watch while Andrew pulled out some lock picks, and he managed to get through the front door before any neighbors caught them at it or Lang noticed what they were doing.

Unfortunately for the man, he was in the shower when they broke in – unfortunate for them, too, because Andrew had to deal with the naked fuck. “How unpleasant,” he said in German after he pulled the shower curtain back and the pudgy man gave out a shrill scream. Micha sighed and slammed him face first into the tiles.

“No noise,” the German man said; he was taller than Andrew and a bit more built, but on the whole came across as quiet and unassuming. However, it was clear that he had no qualms about doing any necessary shit.

“What he said.” Andrew pulled out a knife and squatted down near the tub; Lang had slumped into it after having his face smashed. “Now, you make a noise, I stab you. You refuse to answer a question, I stab you. There’s a theme here, yes?”

“I… I don’t know anything,” the man sobbed. “Who are you?”

Andrew gave him a poke with the knife, which made him flinch and cry out, which got him another poke. “Abram Hatford. Don’t tell me you don’t know anything, because you’ve been following him around the last two days and we don’t like that.” He gave a harsher poke to the man’s upper left arm and twisted the knife, which made Lang give out a muffled cry. “I don’t like that at all. So you’re going to tell me why you made a very, very bad mistake in stalking the wrong guy.”

It took a good many more ‘pokes’, for which Andrew was grateful that they were in the bathroom since it got a bit messy, before Lang confessed everything, confessed to being hired to follow Abram and report on where he was staying, where he went and especially if he went anywhere alone. Micha pocketed the man’s phone and grabbed the tablet, saying that he’d trace back the calls and the money transfers, but they both knew who was behind it in the end. Once Andrew got everything of value out of Lang, once he made sure that there was no one else working with the man, he took care of the ‘loose end’.

“Go on, take the car and get back to Abram,” Micha told him. “I’ll call in some help to clean up here.”

Andrew only hesitated for a moment; he didn’t like leaving his ‘messes’ to other people to clean up, not when they could come back to bite him in the ass, but Micha had already ‘cleaned up’ for him once before and he also didn’t like the idea of Abram being left alone – barring Joey – when it was clear that the Moriyamas were pulling more shit. “All right.” He finished washing off the blood then accepted the car fob from the German before leaving the apartment as quickly as possible.

He got back to the hotel to find Abram waiting up for him, a carafe of coffee on the desk beside him and a plate of pastries as well. “Have fun?” the Brit asked, a definite bite to the words.

Andrew only paused for a moment before he picked up a cherry danish. “I think I’m getting better at this interrogation shit.”

“Oh, good for you.” Abram seemed to save something and then close his laptop. “So pleased you’re having all these banner opportunities to develop your skills. Feel free to put me down on your resume as a reference, by all means.” He leaned back in the chair and folded his arms across his chest; for once he wore a t-shirt – grey of course- which showed off his black armbands.

Andrew stood there as he munched on the danish, which was delicious. “Sarcasm much?”

There was an explosive burst of air as Abram rushed onto his feet, his eyes flashing and hair falling onto his face. “I’m not some… some fucking helpless _twit_ , dammit! Where do you get sending me away while you deal with someone sent after me?”

“Seems to me that’s my job,” Andrew told him, refusing to rise to the bait just then since he was starving and could really use a shower; the shirt was probably a lost cause. “Take it up with your uncle, yeah?”

“He’s under the mistaken impression that I need a babysitter,” Abram ground out as he jerked his right hand through his hair. “He’s wrong, he’s so wrong that it’s driving me crazy.”

“Is he?” Andrew asked before he could think better of it. “Because from what I can tell, you can barely feed yourself, you’ve got your head buried in so much work that you never come up for air which isn’t good when you’ve a huge target painted on your ass, and you’ve no sense of preservation whatsoever. We won’t even get started on the martyr syndrome.”

If Andrew thought Abram’s ‘smile’ could be disturbing, the cold look he was getting right now was a close second, it was so chilling and derisive. “I’ve been taking care of myself for a hell of a lot longer than you can imagine, thank you very much.”

“There’s a difference between ‘taking care of yourself’ and ‘self-destructing’, you know,” Andrew told the idiot. “And what I’m seeing in front of me is more a case of the second.”

For a moment, Andrew thought he was going to get the plate of pastries thrown at his face, but Abram apparently wasn’t one to go for that dramatic a scene. No, he preferred sharper weapons than pastries, apparently. “You would know, wouldn’t you? After all, you seem to be a bastion of self-care yourself, right? There’s not a reason why you ended up in Germany without a job or anything tying you down, hmm? Why you’re so willing to risk your life for someone you don’t even know?” When all Andrew did was just stand there staring at him, Abram gave a slight wave as if dismissing him. “Good night.”

Andrew stood there with the last bite of the danish in his hand as he watched the bastard walked away, and it took him about a good minute before he threw it into his mouth. Part of him really wanted to follow Abram and punch him, but he had a feeling if he gave into the impulse, it would start a fight that wouldn’t go well for either of them – having seen Abram in action, they were a bit too evenly matched, and too willing to pull a weapon. Too much on edge at the moment, especially Abram.

So Andrew fetched some whiskey and ate a good bit of the pastries before washing off and going to bed, and had one of the first nightmares since tracking down Stuart Hatford and asking for a job. He dreamed of standing out in the middle of the Foxhole Court covered in blood as everyone walked away, as even Renee turned her back on him, until only Aaron was there. Only his brother, and he was staring at Andrew with such blatant scorn. Then he, too, turned and walked away, leaving Andrew all alone out on the Court… except Andrew noticed someone sitting up in the bleachers, someone with dark, wavy hair who seemed to be shouting something but was too far away. Whose voice was too faint for Andrew to hear – and then the damn Ravens’ song burst out over the speakers, just when Andrew thought he might have figured out the words, and-

And Andrew found himself awake in bed with the alarm on his phone going off, dammit. He nearly threw the thing into the wall before he stopped himself, tattered memories of the dream clinging to his mind as he scrubbed fingers through his hair. That had been… odd. For the most part, he’d had a similar dream like that for the past year or so, but the ending had been different. He sat on the bed for a moment or two while he puzzled it out, then forced himself to get up before a certain suicidal idiot went off to the gym without him.

He wasn’t surprised to find Abram still in a pissy mood after last night, so it was a very quiet workout, which bled into a very quiet breakfast and a rather tense meeting with Ally and Joey. Ally took one look at his cousin’s closed-off expression and nearly pissed himself, doing his best to keep Andrew between him and Abram at all times. Abram was the perfect image of politeness with the Fangs, and determined to wrap up the business with them as quickly as possible.

“Did you have to piss him off?” Ally asked Andrew while Abram was busy talking Qing through some documents and Ju looked on. “I want to get back home in original condition, thank you very much.”

“I didn’t know he’d feel so slighted about sitting out on the fun,” Andrew griped. “Next time I’ll let him join in.”

Ally scoffed at that. “Dude, you’re talking about one of the toughest members of the family over there.” He rolled his eyes while Andrew inwardly picked up upon hearing that, but did his best to not seem to interested; he figured if anyone would be a loudmouth, it would be Ally. “Uncle Stuart and the others were all ready to save him from those Popescu guys, but Ram took out two of them on his own and fucked up the other one bad enough that he had to go get patched up, which is how they ended up finding him.” Ally looked back at his cousin with something resembling a mix of fear and hero worship. “I hear Uncle Stuart gave him the guy once they got him out of the place so he could finish the job. It… wasn’t pretty.”

‘Popescu’. Andrew had heard that word – no, that _name_ – back in that warehouse in London. So that was what had set Abram off while interrogating the Romanian? That… no, _they_ were tied to the ‘bad thing’? It sounded like Abram had been able to physically deal with his ‘demons’… but it still hadn’t put them to rest.

Correct that. Abram had been able to deal with _some_ of his demons. Stuart had implied that there had been a lot of ‘bad things’ that had gone into making Abram the man he was today, and much of it done by the people who should have protected him, at that. Andrew’s hands clenched into fists when he thought about it.

“Then you shouldn’t do anything to make him angry,” he told Ally as he watched Abram translate yet another document for Qing, and began to understand some of his friend’s anger the last day or so.

Abram managed to appease the Fangs enough about their new investment, which was good, because William Hatford wanted them back out of Stuttgart again, considering what had happened the night before. That didn’t calm Abram’s temper any, but Andrew was able to mostly ignore it for the flight home, in part because of the knowledge he’d gained and because he’d been able to get through security without removing his armbands for once.

Oh yes, he was definitely being spoiled by all of this ‘criminal empire’ shit.

Abram spent the first full day back in London sulking in his room except for one brief foray into the kitchen, which Andrew didn’t care much about since he could work out in the ‘spare’ room and order take-out and just do whatever he wanted in the apartment. However, when he was about to drag the sullen bastard out by his hair on the second day, Bren stopped by with some sort of gift bag and an explanation.

“He hiding?” Bren asked, his voice pitched low as if to ensure that Abram didn’t hear him.

“Like a little bitch.” Andrew didn’t give a fuck if Abram heard him.

Bren winced at that, and Andrew noticed that the man’s appearance had changed, that his black hair had been trimmed and styled, and that he’d taken the time to shave for once. Not too bad now that he’d cleaned up, but Andrew had heard enough about how enforcer was dating a woman who provided medical assistance for the family.

“Yeah, I’m not surprised. Was probably hoping that he’d be out of town long enough to miss out on tonight.” At Andrew’s blank look, Bren motioned to the bag he’d just dropped off. “Big party at the Mandarin Oriental in Hyde Park for William’s birthday. All the family have to be there if they’re in London, and a good bit of the rest of us are invited.”

Andrew thought of Abram at a party and reached for his cigarettes. “You’re kidding me.”

“Nope.” Bren smiled at that. “Last time there was any sort of big gathering, Abram managed to get himself stuck in Russia for two weeks. Brought back a bunch of caviar and vodka to make up for it, but you could tell the little shit wasn’t guilty at all.” His smile faltered a bit. “Yeah, it’ll be messy, next time he gets his hands on a Moriyama tool for fucking this up for him.”

No wonder he’d been so pissed off back in Stuttgart – not only because Andrew had ‘protected’ him, but because they’d had to leave early.

“Great, it’s going to be such fun, tonight.”

Bren shrugged as he headed toward the door. “Aw, just get a few drinks in him and it’ll be fine. There’s an open bar and the food’s always great. Anyway, that’s the gift for him to bring, Jamie told me to get it for him.”

And Abram kept insisting that he could look after himself. “What time do I have to drag him out of here?”

“By six. See you there!”

Andrew gave the brat a couple more hours to sulk before he banged on the door. “One hour to get ready before I drag you there in whatever you’re wearing,” he called out, then went to get ready himself while something in what sounded to be Russian was shouted at him. Oh yes, definitely the next language on the list.

Lucky for him, Abram appeared with about ten minutes to spare, dressed for a night out and done being a little shit for the moment; Andrew had never seen the man fuss with his appearance so much; his hair was smoothed back and he actually was wearing a hint of cologne, something spicy, his dark grey shoes gleaming and... and eyes a bit panicked.

"I thought this was just a birthday party,” Andrew said as he tugged on his own coat.

"It's Uncle Will's birthday party," Abram said, his voice strained as he picked up the festive gift bag from the counter.

"And?" Andrew asked as Abram draped a dark grey wool overcoat over his left arm; he didn't know why everyone gave him shit for wearing black all the time, when his friend did little better with all the grey.

"And it's Uncle Will," Abram sighed. "I don't think he likes me very much."

All right then, it was certain to be a lovely night, wasn't it? They made their way down to the garage, where Andrew noticed that Davis, Brennan and Cal had already left. The two of them got into the McLaren and made their way to the Mandarin Oriental hotel, where Andrew begrudgingly turned over the car to an all but drooling valet - he had to resist the urge to warn the guy that if the car got damaged in any way, so did he.

Abram must have figured out his thoughts just then, because he rolled his eyes at Andrew, the panic lessening for a moment before they entered the hotel and headed for where Miriam Hatford had arranged the 65th birthday party for her husband. They found the appropriate ballroom, and Andrew had to say, it was an impressive gathering of expensive suits and menace.

He pitied anyone who stumbled onto the party by mistake, mixing it up with some wedding or retirement party being hosted at the hotel, though they would have to get past the 'security' at the doors; two very tall, broad-shouldered men took one glance at Abram and gave him a polite nod. With the obvious muscle on display, Andrew almost missed the woman off to the side in a simple silk dress that screamed 'couture' (he blamed that knowledge on Reynolds), who had snared Abram's attention upon their entrance, an almost plain brunette whom one would think didn't take much effort with her appearance... until Andrew realized it was deliberate. Until he realized that she would be able to blend in with ease among this crowd here, to become lost... and that her sleeves were a little too long and loose. That her dark eyes were a little too sharp.

"Hello, Ramya," Abram called out to her.

"Abram, always a pleasure," she answered with a slight nod. "Your aunt will be pleased that you made it after all."

"Of course." Abram nodded in return before they walked past the woman, and Andrew noticed that her attention was once more focused on the door.

"So, Ramya?"

"Ramya Michaelson," Abram explained as he paused for just a moment, then went in the direction of what appeared to be a gift table so he could drop off the bag. "Aunt Miriam's right hand, you could say. Personal assistant, cleaner and all around terror in one." He spoke in an almost affectionate tone. "She's lovely, but don't get on her bad side, and definitely don't get on Aunt Miriam's bad side."

Oh yes, 'lovely' indeed. Along the way to the table, a few people called out Abram's name, to which he nodded politely, but he didn't stop until Jamie came up, a smile on her face and a drink in her hand. She wore a dress that night, like Ramya something 'simple' yet Andrew was willing to bet fresh off a runway, her hair pulled back by what appeared to be diamond barrettes. "Come, Ram, Dad wants to see you."

Abram looked as if he was walking off to his execution as Jamie grabbed his right arm to tug him along, and Andrew followed even though he wasn't sure what he could do, exactly. They crossed the room to a large table where Stuart was seated, as well as an older gentlemen with grey hair cut close to his scalp but with similar facial structure to Stuart's as well as those pale eyes, and a lovely older woman with ashen blond hair pulled into a loose bun. "Here he is, Dad, along with Andrew Minyard."

"Happy Birthday, Uncle Will," Abram murmured with a polite bow of his head, his eyes downcast.

William Hatford stood up from his seat, and Andrew put him at about five foot five, maybe, a bit stockier than Stuart and definitely stockier than Abram, but some of it might be from age. He looked Abram up and down then sighed. "You need to stop running around so damn much, you bloody fool," he chastised while he reached out to give Abram a hug. "Try standing still long enough to put on some weight, yeah? You look like a strong wind could knock you over."

The woman - Miriam, Andrew assumed, clicked her tongue as she stood up as well to hug a rather uncomfortable Abram next. "Ah, you know it's the style these days. Helps them fit into those ridiculous jeans and all." When she pulled back, she fussed a little with Abram's hair, tugging free a lock from whatever he'd used to slick it back. "I like your curls. You should let them loose more often."

"Yes, ma'am," Abram managed to breathe out, while Andrew could tell his friend was doing his best not to flinch or recoil from the touches; he wondered if this was why Abram thought that his uncle didn't like him and couldn't tell that this appeared to be nothing but affection and concern - at least, that's what it looked like to Andrew.

Meanwhile, William Hatford turned his attention to Andrew. "Well, at least this one looks like he has some meat on him. Minyard, yeah?" He held out his hand for Andrew to shake it, his grip firm but not trying to prove anything. Andrew supposed when you had how many hundreds of people willing to kill or bash in heads for you, that was unnecessary.

"For fuck's sake, this is a party, not a funeral," Stuart grumbled as he lifted his drink. "Seriously, Ram, why do you let him go about like that?"

"What?" Abram asked, his expression mostly normal now that no one was touching him. "He looks fine to me."

"Because you're not much better. Flock of storm crows, you are. Go on, get out of my sight." Stuart waved them off while he nursed his drink, and Jamie laughed as she once more latched onto her cousin's arm.

"Davis is going to have to carry him home, how much you want to bet, little cousin?"

"Not my concern," Abram said as they were led off to a smaller table. "How many people are here tonight?"

"Hmm, a good many." Jamie motioned them to sit down, then flagged over a server dressed in black and white. "Whiskey, neat, and two gin gimlets." When Abram frowned, she shook her head. "It's a party, have a real drink or two for once."

"Why would I want to keep my wits about me, considering everyone here?" Abram folded his arms over his chest, while Andrew waved over a tray of appetizers.

Jamie noticed that and gave him a smile. "So, heard you did good in Stuttgart." Abram frowned at that, which earned him a tug on the strand of hair that Miriam had pulled free until he grimaced and sat back in his chair.

"Thank you," Andrew told her; upon seeing the tray of what looked to be some sort of beef sliders, he just took it from the server and waved off the guy. When the guy stared in shock at Jamie, she smiled some more and nodded him away as well, which he did after leaving a stack of napkins. "Someone complained I was a bit overbearing."

"I did no such thing," Abram huffed, then frowned when a slider was shoved at him and accepted it with obvious reservations. “I said you were an ass, more or less.”

"Whatever. Kept whining about babysitters and the like." Andrew threw a couple of paper napkins his way; hmm, the things were good, definitely not hamburgers in there.

"I just think I could have handled it myself." Abram frowned a little longer before he took a bite of the appetizer. "Uhm... are you going to eat all of them?"

"Why, hungry?"

"Not really, just... that's a lot." Abram stared at him in apparent fascination, at least until the server returned with their drinks.

Meanwhile, Jamie was clearly amused. "Dinner will be served soon, you know." Then she turned to her cousin. "Do you feed him at all?"

"More like it's the other way around," Abram sighed. "But he does eat. My freezer is currently full of so much ice cream, it's disgusting."

That made Jamie laugh a little. "You're telling me that sweets have invaded the sanctity of your abode? The world is ending."

"Go to hell," Abram shot back, while Andrew continued with his sliders in between sips of his whiskey.

"No, no, I remember when Ally brought over a cake for you the one time, and it sat in the fridge for so long the mold was turning into a new lifeform."

"You're right, I need something strong to get through this," Abram muttered as he tossed back a good bit of his drink. "Who thought spending a couple of hours with family was a good idea?"

"Now, now, it doesn't happen too often," Jamie assured him as she looked out across the room. "Probably a good thing, considering I hear Ally's not about to come near you anytime soon."

Andrew paused in his slider decimation for a moment upon hearing that, waiting to see if she was going to do anything about Stuttgart, but all she did was motion over another server. "Dad said I could take lessons on handling the brat from you, you know."

"You have to mean it." Abram finished his drink and set the empty glass aside. "Despite everything, he's still your little brother, while to me he's the pest who nearly got me locked up in a shipping container and sent off to the US as freight."

Ah, that explained the whole 'Calais' comment, Andrew supposed. "And all you were willing to do was cut off a toe or two? Remarkable restraint," he told his friend.

"Well, he's family," Abram sniffed.

"That and he may have just 'accidentally' stabbed the idiot at the time. Knife slipping and all. It's why Ally knows he's not kidding," Jamie remarked in a rather droll tone.

"If you fail to carry through with a threat, then people know your word is no good," Abram said, which gave the server a bit of pause when he came over to drop off their drinks.

"Hmm, very true. Lesson number two." Jamie nodded as she picked up her new drink.

"And what's lesson number one?" Andrew asked as the server removed the now empty appetizer tray.

The smile she gave him wasn't quite up to Abram's disturbing one, but it wasn't bad, all in all. "Always have a weapon on hand when you make a threat, so people know you’re ready to see it through."

"Must have been fun, growing up in your house," Andrew remarked as he swirled his whiskey around.

"It was... interesting." For a moment Jamie's face hardened as she looked around the room, while Abram's expression grew shuttered. "But it wasn't bad."

Andrew noticed that Abram didn't agree with her, that he just picked up his drink and tossed it back all at once, his fingers tight around the glass. Jamie seemed to catch that and pity flashed across her face before she schooled it into something less obvious.

"So, you're back for now, yeah?"

"At least until someone tells me otherwise," Abram said as he set the glass back down, the ice clinking together.

Jamie seemed to hesitate about something for a moment, then took to staring into her own drink. "Maybe you could... well, no one would object if you took a bit of a break, yeah? Go somewhere, maybe show Andrew a bit of the coast?"

Abram just gave her a flat stare. "Because the last time I tried that it worked out so well. Thanks, but no thanks. If you'll excuse me for a moment." He pushed away from the table and strode away in quick, long strides, making it clear he was eager to put some space between him and his cousin.

"So tell me, is there a certain time limit you have to know him where you can piss him off with every other word like that?" Andrew asked as he swirled his drink about. "It's rather amusing."

Okay, maybe she was working on that whole 'disturbing' look after all. "Uncle Stuart was right about that smart mouth of yours."

"I don't know what he's talking about," Andrew insisted before he had a sip of the whiskey. "So what happened the last time Abram tried to take off a few days?"

Jamie winced. "Some upstart local gang thought they could make a name for themselves by taking out the 'fag' Hatford." At Andrew's blank look, she shrugged. "Needless to say, after Bren and Cal finished cleaning up the mess, no one was calling him that anymore."

"Surprised they called him that in the first place." From the moment Andrew had met Abram, there had been an air of danger to him - maybe not obvious to everyone, but to anyone who knew what to look for, at the least.

"Well, some people tend to listen to rumors and not think for themselves, and others dismiss him because he's not the most visible family member," Jamie explained. "He prefers to keep to the background."

"Prefers, or is too busy working on shit for you?"

The angry look was back. "Prefers," Jamie ground out. "Look, you're smart so I'm sure you've picked up by now that there's people out there who would be more than happy if Abram took over instead of me."

"But not Abram," Andrew remarked before he finished his whiskey.

"No, not Abram," Jamie agreed, her expression softening. "So that's why he does what he can not to stand out.

Deciding to take advantage of someone who didn't need something for each question they answered or spoke without thinking, Andrew leaned forward with his elbows on the table. "So why is that?" At Jamie's puzzled expression, he gestured toward her. "I mean, other than a lack of a dick, you seem to have everything the next great Hatford needs. Brains, balls - well, metaphorically - you're the big guy's kid, and you have people loyal to you. You grew up with these people. Why would they look at some guy who wasn't around until a few years ago?"

Jamie's expression grew more puzzled for a few seconds, and then it smoothed out. "Abram hasn't told you."

Dammit. Looked as if he should stick with Ally, even if he was an annoying fuck.

"Abram hasn't told me a lot of things," Andrew gritted out, "but he's told me a few. Now, back to the question at hand."

"Oh no," Jamie insisted as she waved over the server again. "You wouldn't have to ask that if he'd told you about his father... and that's all I'm going to say."

So it was about his father; Andrew really wanted to know about the man, now. "This is the guy who all but sold him to the Moriyamas. Such an interesting fellow."

That gave the woman a slight pause. "All right, so he has told you a few things." When Andrew leaned forward again, she shook her head. "No, Abram has to tell you that one. All I'll say is... to some people, his father is... well, Abram's parentage is more impressive than mine." Her mouth twisted with obvious bitterness. "They consider him more of a 'purebred' and me a mutt, that my father married down while Aunt Mary...." She fell quiet for a moment. "Some people believe in stupid things."

"And what does Abram believe?"

Jamie was on her feet in a rush. "Most days? I believe that he wishes that he'd never been born." The words came out hard and venomous, but Andrew didn't think that they were directed at Abram. "So yeah, that tells you how stupid those gits are, who think his father is worth anything, that utter sack of shite." She spun away, her face a mask of rage. "I need a drink," she muttered as she went off to the bar.

Andrew watched her leave, her movements jerky from strong emotion, and a minute later a server appeared with two more drinks. He accepted both of them and drank down the gin before he picked up the whiskey so he could go find where Abram had wandered off to. Along the way, a few people bothered to introduce themselves to him, not that he cared much, but he supposed it was good to begin to place names to faces and learn the network, to fill his phone up with numbers of people he could call. There apparently was some status in being tied so close to a Hatford, and from the 'main branch' at that (even if that's not how they phrased it), and while Andrew picked up on a cold shoulder or two, for the most part there was a sense of cooperation and unity in the huge ballroom.

He found Abram pinned down by two older men who was talking the young man's ear off about 'dear Mary', and judging from the white knuckles around the empty tumbler in Abram's hand and the oh-so polite expression on his face, he was barely holding it together, hearing the reminiscing about his mother. Andrew interrupted the three of them, uncaring if he came across as rude, and told Abram that he needed to talk to him about something.

"Oh thank fuck," Abram breathed once they were out of earshot. "I couldn't get a word in edgewise."

"Who were they?"

"Cousins a couple time removed, something like that." Abram steered them toward the bar. "Only see them at occasions like this," he said with a weary sigh. "I don't like occasions like this."

Andrew thought about that for a moment. "Don't like big family gatherings?" he confirmed as they maneuvered around a small group of people laughing and chatting together.

"Not really." Abram was quiet as if he was thinking about something. "I didn't... I didn't grow up around a lot of family. This is relatively new to me." He waited until they were up at the bar and another round of drinks were ordered to speak again. "How about you?"

It wasn't a formal resumption of their 'game', but Andrew decided to answer after all. "Same with me. I... came into things later on."

The look Abram gave him just then was thoughtful, and Andrew was reminded of the owed question; Abram had been too distant ever since Stuttgart, since Andrew had said maybe a bit too much the one night. However, the Brit appeared mindful that perhaps right then wasn't the best of times to be peeling back the layers, since he just picked up their drinks from the bartender and handed Andrew's over, careful not to touch fingers.

It annoyed Andrew that he was bothered by that, and couldn't figure out why. That Abram was messed up enough to not want to do a simple thing, or observant enough to realize that Andrew was just as messed up?

They walked around a little longer, where Abram introduced him to a few more people, then went back to the table since dinner was finally served. Jamie was in a better mood by then, and Andrew met Jason and Liz, who 'looked' after Jamie. Jason was probably the least assuming of the male enforcers that Andrew had seen so far, until he caught an assessing gleam in the man's dark eyes which indicated that he missed little. Liz reminded him of Renee, oddly enough, despite the almost polar physical differences - they had the same blissful smile and lingering darkness in their eyes. No surprise, they got along well with Abram, mindful of his space and him of their skills and role in supporting Jamie.

Dinner turned out to be decent, at least, roast sirloin and salmon, potatoes and other vegetables that Andrew ignored, 'pudding' that was basically thick slabs of stuffing, and lots of dessert, including the birthday cake. There were boring speeches from Stuart, Miriam, Jamie and Ally; for a few minutes Abram appeared panicked as if he was going to be made to talk as well, but was spared.

Afterwards there was some more mingling and talking, and Jamie dragged Abram off to chat with a few people. That's when Jason leaned over to Andrew, though not too close. "So did you get it yet?"

"Get what?" Andrew asked, annoyed at being interrupted from his third slice of cake.

Jason sighed and motioned at his chest. "The tattoo? You've two official kills, plus the ones before Stuart took you in, so you can get it now."

Liz made a displeased sound as she swirled around the wine she held in her left hand. "Please, can we go one night without talking about these things?" Her nose wrinkled with disgust.

"I listened to you talk with Benji about what was the best way to torture someone, to either go for their nails or burn them."

Andrew looked over at Liz with interest as he scooped up another bite of cake. "So? Which is it?"

She gave a slight shrug. "I still think it's burning since there’s less bloodloss if you do it right, but we eventually agreed it might be a matter of personal tastes."

Huh, something to consider. Andrew turned back to Jason. "Get what tattoo?" He was rather sick of the things, after putting up with Kevin.

Jason sighed. "The Hatford coat of arms." When all Andrew did was stare at him and have another bite of cake, the young man sighed again. "Everyone who's done an official kill for the family has one." He opened up his coat to tap over the left side of his chest, and Liz tapped a bit lower on hers, between her breasts. "It marks you as one of our own."

Andrew remembered the colorful shield on Abram's chest the one day  - he hadn't gotten around to asking about the tattoos yet. "Is that what it is?"

"Yes, so you've seen it." Liz frowned as she set her glass aside. "I'm surprised that Abram hasn't told you about it yet, all things considered. You've definitely earned it."

"We've been a bit busy." How much did one want to bet that Abram was thinking that Andrew could still manage to 'run away', to leave his new job behind? The idiot didn't seem to realize that Andrew was quite happy with things and in no hurry to leave. "Been on the road a bit."

"That is true," Liz agreed. "Jamie's more home-based. I'd love a chance to spend a few days in Paris."

Jason made a rude noise as he waved over a server. "Then you go and have fun, I'm perfectly fine with staying here."

After another drink and a slice of cake, Andrew in search of Abram yet again, and that time found him talking to a clearly inebriated Stuart. "And there he is, Ram's shadow. It's about time."

Abram sighed. "It's a party, he doesn't have to follow me everywhere tonight."

"He should," Stuart insisted. "Keep you out of trouble."

"I can keep myself  - no, I'm not doing this here," Abram argued. "We're leaving, all right? Going back home, where I'll be a good little boy and stay out of trouble, just like you and Uncle Will want." Funny, but he didn't sound much like a 'good little boy' just then, in Andrew's opinion.

Stuart must have picked up on that, because he made to reach out to Abram, to pat him on the shoulder or something, but Abram stepped back. "Dammit, Ram, but we're just looking out for you."

"And I keep telling you that I don't need you to do that." Abram's voice sounded so rough just then. "I haven't needed that for _years_! I'm not a child."

"You never were a kid, those two saw to it, yeah?" Stuart choked out. "So stop trying to-"

"Goodbye," Abram said, his tone final as he spun around. Andrew paused for a moment and witnessed the hurt expression on Stuart's face before he followed, the two of them making a straight path for the nearest exit without going back for their coats or slowing down to talk to anyone.

It was a good thing that Andrew had put the valet ticket in his pants’ pocket, because leaving the hotel would be difficult otherwise. He figured that someone, Bren or Cal, would fetch their coats later, and wasn't that upset about leaving the party when it had overall been boring. The food had been decent and the drinks nice, but yeah, social gatherings weren't his thing.

"You going to get into trouble for leaving like that?"

"I don't particularly care," Abram admitted as they reached the lobby. "There's only so much of their overbearingness I can deal with at one given time."

Well, it was on Abram's head in the end, Andrew supposed. He had begun to pull out the valet ticket when he heard his name be called out in a voice he hadn't thought to hear ever again - would have been perfectly happy to never hear ever again.

"Minyard? _Andrew Minyard_? Holy shit what are you doing here? I've got to be seeing things!"

Abram slowed down and looked about. "Uhm, I think that American knows you."

"No shit," Andrew snapped. "Keep moving." If they were quick about it, they could escape before-

"Don't even try it, you fucking monster!" Allison Reynolds called out as she all but ran across the lobby, the skirt of her bright red dress flaring around her thighs; Andrew had forgotten how fast she could move in high heels. "What the _hell_ are you doing in London, and dressed up like that?"

Nice to see that Nicky was keeping his mouth shut about a few things for once. "Fuck off, Reynolds," Andrew muttered as he pulled out a cigarette.

"Same old monster, I see some things haven't changed even if the wrapper has." Allison fisted her hands, nails manicured as always, on her hips and looked him up and down. "McQueen? Really? Did you rob a store or something? Mug a person for their clothes?"

"Andrew, who is this very rude person?" Abram asked while he stared at Allison as if trying to place her.

"Allison Reynolds, rich bitch pain in the ass," Andrew explained.

"Ah, an ex-teammate." Abram nodded at that; somehow Andrew wasn't too surprised that Abram remembered her playing for the Foxes, not with Nicky and everything.

"Definitely still an asshole," Allison muttered while she took to eyeing Abram up and down. "And who are you? You don't look like the monster's usually misfit tag-along."

That earned Allison one of Abram's polite smiles with a hint of malice lurking beneath. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Ms. Reynolds. I'm Abram Hatford, and I can assure you, there was no theft involved in Andrew's clothes since I happened to be there when they were purchased. I must say, I find the accusations you're making bordering on slanders. Might want to watch your tongue during your stay here. It might make things decidedly less pleasant." He gave a slight incline of his head before motioning toward the front of the hotel. "I believe we were leaving, yes?" he said to Andrew.

Andrew had never seen Allison be put down in such a 'civil' manner, and she flat out stared at Abram for a couple of seconds while Andrew gave her a little wave of his fingers which ended with a rude gesture as they walked away.

"Wait a second!" She yelled out as she followed them out the front doors, where Andrew handed over the valet ticket. "Is he a damn lawyer?"

"Something much better," Andrew said with a slight smile, while Abram appeared offended with the idea.

"You still haven't answered my question - what are you doing here? Last I heard, you were working at some small company in Columbia," Allison said as she wrapped her arms around her chest in an effort to stave off the cold since her dress was on the flimsy side. "And you weren't talking to anyone, not even Renee. Now you're in London, with some hot boyfriend," Abram stiffened at that, dammit, "and in a suit that's maybe one month off the runway?"

"I don't see why you think you're owed any explanation," he told her. "Not like you ever bothered with me once you graduated, or much at all when we played together. So just go back to ignoring me, and I'll be quite content to do the same." He flicked ash at her, which caused her to jump back and scowl. “In other words, _fuck off_.”

"Yeah, definitely still an asshole," she huffed. "What the hell are you doing with this guy?" she asked Abram.

"I don't know, his company seems infinitely more preferable to yours," Abram said while he gave Allison a cold look.

Allison stared at him in shock. "Okay, have I stumbled into an alternate universe or something? We are talking about the same guy here, right? Antisocial, homicidal, apathetic as fuck?"

"And those are my good points," Andrew told Abram.

"I figured that out by now," Abram agreed. "She left out how grumpy you are in the morning."

It looked as if Allison was about to have a stroke just then. "What? Oh my god, this isn't happening."

It was around then that the valet arrived with the McLaren, which provoked an actual anguished sound from the pain in the ass. "No! There's a damn waiting list for that car, and _you’ve_ got one? _I_ couldn’t even get one! What the _hell_ is going on here? Minyard!"

Andrew gave her the finger again while he slid inside the McLaren, while Abram went over to the other side. "It really hasn't been very pleasant meeting you, Ms. Reynolds. Goodbye," he told her in that polite, cultured tone of his which conveyed 'fuck you' so well.

“Are all of your old friend assholes like that?” Abram asked as Andrew revved the McLaren’s engines, just to piss off Allison a little more before he pulled away.

“She’s not a friend, though yes, she’s an asshole,” Andrew said. “It’s like I said, we barely acknowledged each other when we at Palmetto State together.”

“Hmm.” Abram seemed to think about something. “She called you ‘monster’.”

Andrew wondered if this fell within their ‘game’, but decided to answer it anyway. “I guess you could say it was my nickname at PSU.” At Abram’s puzzled expression, he shrugged. “It’s what the rest of the Foxes called me, Nicky, Aaron and Kevin – ‘the monsters’, but me in particular.” He gave Abram a humorless grin. “Guess they felt we were a bit lacking in the social niceties.”

“I can’t imagine why,” Abram drawled as he tugged at the cuffs of his light grey shirt. He once more fell into a thoughtful silence.

They drove along the London streets, still busy even that late at night, and Andrew sighed. “Look, don’t worry about what she said about me, all right?”

“She said a good bit about you,” Abram pointed out.

“I meant about me being gay,” Andrew gritted out. It figured that word had gotten back to Allison – he knew Aaron had been rather vocal about it the last year at Palmetto, once Nicky had opened his big mouth, so it shouldn’t surprise Andrew that the other Foxes had found out, considering how they all stayed in touch. He just would have thought that Renee would have said something to him… but then, he’d been the one to cut off contact with her in the last year or so. “I’m not going to do something stupid.” Like expect Abram to have any interest in him.

“The thought never occurred to me,” Abram said, and for some reason Andrew believed him; Abram twisted in the seat to look at him and spoke without hesitation, without any artifice. “It was a surprise, but it’s not a problem.”

“Okay.” Now Andrew was the surprised one; he hadn’t thought that Abram would accept it so easily, considering what he could figure out about the man’s past.

Something akin to anger twisted Abram’s face. “Don’t look like that, I’m tired of people looking like that when around me,” he snapped.

Andrew hadn’t been aware that there was any expression on his face just then. “Like what?”

“Like I’m something to be figured out, as if what I am is so unfathomable.”

“No, you’re not.” Which was a blatant lie, but Andrew wasn’t putting up with a hissy fit in his nice car. “Paranoid, maybe, but not unfathomable.”

Abram continued to stare at him as if trying to figure out if Andrew was lying or not. “Do you mind? You’re staring. I don’t like it.”

“You know what? Not enough drinks tonight,” Abram muttered as he sat facing forward and rubbed at his forehead.

Andrew agreed with that, and figured he could correct the situation once they got back to the apartment. The rest of the drive was quiet, other than Abram’s phone chiming a couple of times, which he ignored.

Once they were home, Abram went straight to his own bedroom, and Andrew figured that would be the last he’d see of the man until morning. He settled for grabbing a bottle of whiskey and heading up to the loft, where he could drink and watch a movie.

Before he went to bed, there were a couple of messages that came through on his own phone; one from Bren, telling him that he’d stop by in the morning with their coats and some leftover cake, a few photos from Davis of a thoroughly smashed Stuart acting like a fool which Davis made him swear not to let the man know that Davis had sent, and one from Cal asking Andrew if he’d liked some woman he couldn’t even remember meeting that night. Since Abram now knew the truth about him and he was certain that Stuart did, too, considering the background check, Andrew didn’t see any point in lying and told the enforcer that he didn’t ‘swing’ that way. There was no response for a minute or two, and then Cal texted back asking him in that case if he liked some guy named Teddy whom Andrew didn’t remember, either (and what the hell, did almost no one go by their full names here or what?).

Andrew told him ‘no’ and stop trying to fix him up or he’d break the bastard’s arm the next time he saw him, to which Cal just replied that hey, it wasn’t his fault, apparently ‘short, sullen and American’ had been popular that night. A few obscenities were exchanged, but Cal always ruined his by throwing on some sort of smiling emoticon, the moron. It got to the point that Andrew was spending more time texting than watching the movie, so he put his phone on mute and tossed it aside for the night.

Sometimes it was difficult to believe that this was his life now, texting with a bunch of murderers and thieves, living in at least a million dollar (pound) apartment, wearing clothes that would make even Kevin Day jealous and having to answer to very few people. Being able to say that he liked his life for once, and it wasn’t the clothes or the fancy apartment or anything tied to the money. Well, Andrew would be a bit upset if he had to give up the car, if he was honest with himself.

He’d bring up the tattoo in a day or two and see Abram’s response then; he wasn’t leaving, wasn’t quitting. He’d walked away from too much in the past, had too many people walk away with bits of himself. This was the first thing in his life that looked as if it was going to work out, where people accepted all of him, and maybe he was dumber than he’d thought but he’d finally learned to hold on to something good. So what if it was an organization of criminals? So what if he was rooming with a guy who just might have more issues than himself?

He was staying.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I feel a bit bad for Allison, but in this AU, there just is no reason for her and Andrew to get along, let's face it. At least, not yet. She also made the most sense to cross paths with him at the moment.
> 
> Ah, Nicky... Nicky... be thankful that Abram is so oblivious....
> 
> Ally, poor Ally. *pets* Yes, he's an idiot. But Abram's 'tough love' is a bit much. It works, though....
> 
> Hmm, trying to figure if I should dive into a short fic prompt or right back into WDWG (which will be a bit dark - not anywhere near as dark as some chapters, but yeah, STUFF HAPPENS). Maybe I need some fluff after this?
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> *******


	4. Run Run Blood

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, you know what? Not sure what to say about this chapter.
> 
> Hmm. Peek of another Fox here. There's that. More to come in the next chapter. DEFINITELY more in the chapter after that.
> 
> It's slowly building up. OMFG, these boys. CCRREEEEPPPIINNNNGG along.  
> *******

The day after Will Hatford's birthday party got off to a normal start. Since it was raining, Abram hit the treadmill disgustingly early and got most of his workout in before Andrew deigned to get out of bed, and seemed in a decent mood considering the last couple of days. He acknowledged Andrew and finished his workout in comfortable silence, which led Andrew to believe that the Brit wouldn't be hiding in his bedroom again. Andrew was almost done with his cardio when Bren showed up, eyes a bit bloodshot, to report that there was cake in the kitchen and to help spot him with the weights.

Now Bren? Bren was a bit quiet for once, which at first Andrew put down to a bit of a hangover, until about twenty minutes into Andrew's weight routine. "So... I talked to Cal last night," Bren commented, his voice a bit quiet.

"Yeah, about what?" Andrew asked, even if he had an idea already.

Bren waited until the heavy weights were back on the rack to speak again. "You tell Abram yet, about you being... you know?"

"About me being gay? Yes." How tedious.

"And?" Bren loomed over Andrew, his large hands braced on top of the weights' metal bar. "What does he think?"

Andrew gave him a blank look in return. "He's fine with it. Why don't you ask him yourself, though I imagine if you're this heavy-handed with it, you'll end up with a knife in the throat." Which Andrew was fine with, at the moment, even though he normally got along with the enforcer.

Bren blinked at that, either Abram not being upset over Andrew liking men or the threat. "Huh. Yeah, okay." He leaned back and seemed to return to normal. "Most likely, yeah."

Andrew's eyes narrowed at that, displeased with the sudden turn in things. "So you thought it was fine to give _me_ shit?" Someone was about to have two hundred pounds tipped onto their foot.

"Well, you know, the knives and all," Bren tried to explain. "He can be a bit scary at times."

"And I'm _not?_ "

"Ah, yeah, okay, point taken." Bren gave a nervous laugh. "But it's all good, yeah?"

Andrew just stared at him through narrowed eyes as he resumed his workout.

He finished for the day then went to shower, and came out to find that Cal had dropped off some take-out by then as well, some Indian from down the street. Abram was poking through his container of something spicy while he worked on his laptop, seated at the kitchen island. "There's that chicken dish you liked last time," he told Andrew.

"Thanks." Andrew grabbed a fork from the drawer and sat opposite of Abram at the island to eat his lunch. When he was about halfway done, he looked up at his friend. "So, word's spreading fast, I see."

"About what?" Abram asked as he glanced up from his laptop.

"About me." Andrew stared at the puzzled look on the Brit's face while he sipped his mango lassi. "About my preferences."

"How did they find that out?" Abram asked as he pushed aside his meal.

"Cal was trying to fix me up with some woman at the party. I told him I didn't swing that way," Andrew explained. "Then he tried to fix me up with some guy." For a moment, Andrew wondered if he shouldn't have replied 'yes' and seen if he couldn't work out a bit of his frustrations.

"Oh." For some reason, Abram appeared annoyed all of a sudden. "Awful forward of him."

Andrew watched the younger man type for about a minute, the slight furrow on Abram's handsome face and harsh clack of keys. "Is it going to be a problem?"

"What?" Abram looked up again, his expression now confused. "Why would it? I told you 'no'."

"I meant with the others," Andrew explained. "Do I need to kick someone's head in to prove that nothing's changed or what?" He'd put up with some shit from a few teams after Aaron had made some snide comments on the court, and remembered their first year on the Foxes after Nicky 'out and proud' stance that first day of official practice.

Abram looked at Andrew as if he was insane. "You might for your general lousy attitude, but not for something like that." He sighed as he got up and went to fetch a cup of coffee. "Look, you may have noticed that we have a rather... loose hiring policy.” That was one way to put it. “The people we hire tend to have specific skills and... well, let's face it, almost no morals." A hint of a smile hovered on Abram's face for a moment. "The criteria is smart, motivated, talented and loyal. We're flexible on the rest." He poured himself a cup then turned to see if Andrew wanted one.

Andrew nodded that he did. "And this has to do with the previous discussion how?"

Abram set a mug of coffee down near Andrew, then went to fetch the carton of milk and sugar bowl for him. "Because until recently with society becoming a bit more 'enlightened', especially with their hiring policies and all, a certain segment of society was blocked from a lot of positions, from jobs and security clearances. They were considered undesirable and unemployable, all because of their sexuality, race or sex." Abram picked up his own mug and took a sip while gazing at Andrew from his spot leaning against the counter.

Andrew thought about that for a minute. "So what, you had an open hiring policy years ahead of time? How wonderful of you.” Yes, the sarcasm was intentional.

"Not quite," Abram admitted as he lowered the mug. "But someone in the family saw the importance of hiring bright people no one else would touch, and giving a person like that a means to support themselves as well as a sign of approval? It goes a long way in ensuring that loyalty the family demands.” Abram’s smile then was a bit sharp. “The Hatfords might not be the most enlightened, but we've made it to where we are and lasted this long in part because of the people we draw to us. I won't say that you'll be accepted with open arms by all, but on the whole, I think it's not a big deal."

There was a logic to what the man was saying, Andrew supposed. "Can I beat up the assholes who aren't 'enlightened'?"

"As long as it doesn't interfere with business, who am I to stand in the way of some personality improvement," Abram murmured into his mug.

That worked for Andrew; if anyone got in his face then they'd regret it, but somehow he doubted that would happen, not after Abram's little 'vacation' misadventure.

He finished his lunch in peace after that while Abram fielded some calls in a couple of different languages, then went back up to the loft to study Mandarin and lounge around for the rest of the day. There was that growing list of questions he had and the deal with the tattoo, but he decided to give it a little time, especially since Abram seemed to finally be back in a decent mood.

Besides, he got his opportunity the next day, which was off to a great start with Abram wanting to get out of the apartment and do some running on a cold morning. Andrew had some very dark thoughts for his friend as they ran around the London streets, his lungs and legs just barely managing to keep up with the fleet-footed idiot. It didn't help that Abram was decked out in some rather form-fitting running shorts despite the cold, that gorgeous face of his flushed from the chill and exertion and his hair pulled back save for a couple of loose tendrils. There were more than a few appreciative looks sent their way along the run, not that Abram seemed to notice it as he stared straight ahead with his headphones on.

Andrew faltered when his own phone rang, and he panted when he answered it. "What... the fuck?"

"How far out is that fool?" Bren asked, pity evident in his deep voice.

Andrew glanced around. "We just... passed the Old Street station."

“Toward or away from the square?”

“Toward.”

"Keep going straight, yeah? I'll pick you two up in a few minutes. Job just came in, Jamie wants you right away," Bren told him before hanging up.

What a shame, the torture was coming to an early end. Andrew noticed Abram glancing at him over his shoulder and motioned for the idiot to remove his headphones. "Bren's on his way to pick us up." He motioned for them to keep running straight.

"He say why?"

"No, just that Jamie wants us."

Abram frowned at that and began to slow down his pace so they could cool off. By the time the black Jaguar sedan pulled up near them, Andrew could breathe normally again, even if he was covered with sweat. He opened the door and made sure that it was just Bren inside, and let Abram get in first.

"I've change of clothes for you both, we'll swing by the place in Whitechapel for you to clean up and then go meet with Jamie," the enforcer explained.

"What for?" Abram asked as he accepted the bottles of water Bren handed back, then passed one over to Andrew.

"Seems the spook has a job for us."

When Abram sighed and rubbed at his forehead before opening the bottle, Andrew settled back in the leather seats despite his sweaty condition. "And what does that mean?"

"It means we're paying for you getting through security with your knives and all," Abram explained. "We have a working relationship, if you want to call it, with MI6." At Andrew's arched eyebrow, Abram shook his head. "They'll deny it to their dying breath, but there's times when they need information from people and can't go about it through the proper channels."

"And we're all about being improper," Bren added with a grin.

"Hmm, something like that." Abram paused to sip his water. "We give them what they need, and they help us out. It's not a strictly tit for tat relationship because if they're ever questioned then they can stretch the truth to say they don't pay us or do us favors... but they mostly give us what we need."

"Ally's good for asking them ridiculous things they can turn down," Bren said. "Think they get a kick out of him."

"I'm so glad someone does," Abram remarked in a scathing tone which made Bren wince.

So it looked as if Stuart hadn't been kidding with that whole 'entrenched' comment, back when Andrew had joined up. It took them about ten minutes to pull up to a small apartment building with an off-street parking lot, where Bren ushered them inside; there was an older man in slacks and a white dress shirt with his sleeves rolled up watching a bunch of monitors who gave them a slight nod in the first floor apartment, where Andrew and Abram took turns showering and getting dressed in a hurry. As soon as they were presentable, Bren bustled them out into the car and they were on their way, with Bren calling Jason to let him know that they’d be there soon.

It was about another twenty minutes after that, to some industrial part of the town where they arrived at a medium-sized building whose business must have gone under in the past year or so. The structure was still in decent shape, but a few weeds poked out here and there in the parking lot, and the windows were dirty but still whole. There were a couple of sleek Jaguars and Aston Martins already parked there, as well as an unassuming Volkswagen.

"One of these things is not like the others," Andrew said as they headed for the nearest door, which made Abram smile.

"It does dispel the whole fancy spy fantasy, doesn't it?" When they neared the door, it was opened for them by the guy Andrew remembered from the night he'd helped to interrogate the Romanian - Den.

"Finally," Den said. "Been waiting forever."

"Blame our little fox here," Bren said, and for a moment Andrew thought the man was speaking about him before he realized that Bren was pointing to Abram. "Quite the mad dash this morning."

"It's called 'exercise', give it a try one day," Abram snapped as he took to tugging on the cuffs of his grey suit. The enforcers got the hint and shut up, much to Andrew's amusement.

The bottom floor of the building had been mostly cleared out, minus a bit of debris scattered about and a couple of desks with a few chairs. Off toward the back was Jamie with Jason standing beside her, and a tall gentleman whom Andrew hadn't meet yet. Considering the way that he smiled at Abram, though, it looked as if that the two of them had met before.

The man - an MI6 agent, from what Abram had said, appeared much like someone off on the street, maybe about six foot tall with a medium build that hinted at regular workouts and a mindful eye to the diet. He had medium brown hair kept trimmed but not too short, and pleasant looks but nothing that would attract Andrew's attention. Somehow, Andrew suspected that was the point, for the man to be pleasing but not stand out too much. "Ah, Abram, so good to see you again." Even his voice was average, not too deep, not too high.

Abram gave him a polite nod. "Hello, Lloyd, you look well." He came to a stop out of the man's reach and motioned to Andrew. "This is Andrew."

"Yes, yes, rather interesting, the new hire." Lloyd smiled at Andrew, the expression as polite as Abram's nod, his brown eyes cool and assessing. "A bit flashy, all in all, no?"

"I don't foresee that being a problem," Abram replied, while Andrew wondered just what the agent had meant by 'flashy'. "Now, I believe you brought me here for a reason?" There was a hint of impatience to his voice just then.

Lloyd's smile turned a bit more genuine. "Always so professional. Yes, there's something I'd appreciate your help with, if you don't mind." He motioned toward an office a few feet away. "A contact of mine stumbled upon him last night, and everything's pointing to him being Ukrainian."

"But you don't believe that, do you?" Abram asked as he stared in the direction of the dark office.

"No." Lloyd pulled out his phone and swiped through it. "Thing is, he has... certain ties that make me bringing him in a bit difficult, at least in an official sense. Now if he disappears?" His smile took on a sharp sense. "Well, he was in a bad part of town, those things happen."

"Let me see if I've figured this out," Andrew said. "We do the hard work, and you just so happen to 'overhear' what you need. If anyone questions you, you get to say you don't know what happened to the guy because you're long gone by that point, and you technically didn't take any part in the questioning."

Lloyd bowed his head. "All right, I'm beginning to see why they hired you, even if you're a bit recognizable and all."

Andrew next looked at Jamie, who gave him a slight nod. "Abram does the talking, you do everything else," she instructed. Abram didn't seem very happy with that, but considering how he'd started to lose it the one time, he couldn't complain. "Den will help out."

"What fun." Andrew removed his coat and began to roll up his sleeves before he headed to the office, with Abram at his side.

"Give me a minute to talk to him before you start," Abram said. At Andrew's questioning look, Abram tapped his lips. "I want a feel for his accent before it's... distorted."

"All right." They entered the office to find a man trussed up by his arms to an exposed beam overhead, feet barely touching the plastic covered floor. The pants he had on looked to be part of a nice suit, but his shirt and any coat or jacket had been removed, leaving his hairy chest bare and exposing a couple of interesting tattoos - at least one of which seemed very new, and looked as if it was meant to cover something else. His hair was dark and unkempt, and his face covered with sweat and stubble.

"I have diplomatic immunity," he told them in English, his accent a bit thick. "You have to let me go."

Abram hitched a long leg up on the desk pushed back against the wall as he eyed the man with interest and spoke in what sounded to be Russian. Whatever he said made the man shake his head.

"No, you don't understand, I work for the Ukrainian embassy. You need to let me go."

Abram eyed him for another moment or two while Den, Jamie and Lloyd came into the office as well, but stayed toward the door. Then the Brit gave a slight wave to Andrew, who shrugged and pulled out one of his knives; mindful of Abram's previous instructions, he made a show of approaching the man, whose dark brown eyes went wide. As soon as Andrew's hands touched his chest, he started babbling in Ukrainian or Russian – they sounded similar to Andrew, he had to pay attention to catch the differences and couldn’t be bothered just then.

Abram listened intently and spoke back, something that had the man shake his head and answer him, his voice tight with first fear and then anger as Abram continued to question him. It went on for a couple of minutes, before Abram looked over Lloyd. "He's Russian. They did a good job with the accent and all, but he messed up a couple of slang terms and idioms, things like that."

"I'm not," the man argued. "I was born in-" Andrew punched him to get him to be quiet.

Lloyd perked up at that. "That's what I thought." Then he smiled at Jamie. "Did I tell you about this interesting rumor about the Ukraine possibly getting their NATO membership this year? Their ambassador here, Makarenko, has been working very hard on it."

"Oh really?" Jamie asked with a polite smile on her face. When Lloyd hummed a little, Andrew looked over at Abram, who nodded once and began speaking in Russian – it was harsher that time.

It went on like that for a good while, Lloyd pretending to talk to Jamie about those interesting 'rumors', which Abram used as the basis for his questions to the Russian. When the man wouldn't answer, Andrew 'prodded' him, using his fists and knives, until Abram was satisfied and translated the information back to Lloyd. The agent kept nodding along, and Andrew suspected that he was recording the interrogation somehow.

After about two hours and when the man took to repeating himself, Lloyd made a yawning gesture. “Ah, will you look at the time? I promised a friend that I would meet him for lunch.”

Jamie looked over at Abram, who was studying the Russian. “Well?”

“I don’t think there’s anything else for him to tell,” Abram said, while the Russian murmured something. He glanced over at Andrew and gave a curt nod.

Andrew stepped closer to the Russian and grabbed him by the sweaty hair so he could sever the man’s spinal column; he’d done a bit of research, so this time it was neater and quicker.

“Ooh, nice,” Lloyd commented before he turned to Abram. “You know, we can always use skilled translators. I don’t know why you’re wasting your talents like this.”

Jamie glared at the agent. “For fucks sake, you’re doing this in front of me?”

Lloyd shrugged. “Don’t take it personally, but-“

“No,” Abram said before the man could speak any further. “Yet again, _no_.” His flat out denial of the job offer made Jamie smile.

“See, shot down again,” Jamie told him with evident glee. “Now get out of here so we can clean up your mess.”

“Make sure he disappears,” Lloyd instructed them. “Better a mystery than a body.”

Jamie made a shooing motion while Den started to cut the man down then laid him out on the bloody tarp on the floor. “Telling us how to do our damn job,” she muttered once Lloyd was gone. “Haven’t screwed up yet, have we?”

“Don’t jinx things,” Abram said with a wince as he pulled out his phone. “Are we done here?”

“Sure, just hose down Minyard and you can leave.”

Andrew gave her a cool look for that. “So kind.” His hands and forearms were filthy, and it was another ruined shirt, but on the whole, that was it; he really was getting better at this stuff.

Jamie met his cool look with an appraising one. “You’re taking to this rather well. Should I be worried?”

“Meaning what?”

“Meaning are we going to find bits of the neighbors in the rubbish bins?” Abram called out while he tapped away on his phone. “It attracts pests, you know. Better ways to dispose of them.”

Andrew stared at his friend for a moment, then looked back at Jamie while Den hefted the neatly wrapped dead body up over his shoulder. “And you’re worried about me?”

“His quirks are… known and appreciated,” she said with a slight smile.

“Yes, I feel so appreciated right now,” Abram murmured.

“You could always go work for Lloyd there,” Andrew commented before he went out to search for a sink. There was a set of bathrooms off on the far side, and he went into the men’s just because it was the nearest. Bren was kind enough to hand over a clean sweatshirt from somewhere for him to wear, some stupid local soccer team (at least it wasn’t Exy), to tide him over until he got back to the apartment, and then they were able to leave.

They stopped for food along the way since they hadn’t any breakfast, and no one thought it odd that Andrew was hungry after everything. Soon enough they were back at the apartment, and Abram set the containers of fried fish and ‘chips’ down on the kitchen island while Andrew went to change. When he came back downstairs, it was to find that Abram had gone off to change as well, and both of them sat down in more casual clothes. Andrew fetched a bottle of whiskey to go along with his lunch, and after a moment’s hesitation, Abram went for some gin.

Andrew waited until they’d both had something to eat and at least one drink (for Abram) before he spoke up. “So, I still owe you a question?” No time like the present to restart their little game.

Abram frowned as he poured himself some more gin. “I think you answered enough the other night that we’re even now.”

Well, interesting to see that the man had some odd sense of fairness. “All right, I want to know about your tattoos.” Andrew figured he’d give Abram a chance to tell him about the Hatford coat of arms that way.

“Ah.” Abram frowned at his half-finished meal in such a manner that Andrew knew the idiot wasn’t going to eat the rest, and once it was pushed aside, grabbed the container since the food was really good. “Those.” What the idiot did finish was his drink, then set the glass down on the marble counter in much too controlled a manner. “The flowers… poppies were my mother’s favorite,” he said as he raised his left hand to rub along his right bicep. “I wanted some sort of memorial for her.”

That implied that his mother was lacking a proper memorial, but Andrew decided not to push just then, since he’d touched upon a deeper subject than he’d intended. “And the other one?”

“Also tied to family, but not so unique.” Abram poured himself some more gin but didn’t pick up the glass. “You’ll see it on other family members – Will, Stuart and Jamie, and some of our most loyal people. It’s the Hatford coat of arms, and only those who’ve killed for the family are allowed to wear it.” He stared at Andrew with those pale grey eyes of his, his expression solemn. “Once you get it, it’s… ill-advised to attempt to remove it. I’m sure you can imagine the penalty.”

Andrew picked up his own glass. “And if I wanted one?”

“For fuck’s…. “ Abram sighed and rubbed at his forehead. “There’s a chance you could still get out of this, you know. That you could run far enough and fast enough.” For some reason he sounded almost envious just then. “Getting it would just be one more way of tying you here.” Now he spoke as if confused, as if unable to comprehend why Andrew didn’t just pick up and run right then. Yet the idiot had turned down an offer to work for the government, to become ‘legitimate’, in a sense, barely more than an hour ago.

“I didn’t come into this blind,” Andrew argued. “I know what I’m doing. I’m not leaving. What if I want that fancy tattoo?”

Abram closed his eyes for a moment before he let out a slow breath and raised his head to look at Andrew. “Then talk to Davis about scheduling an appointment for you. Can’t exactly walk into any parlor and ask for it to be done.”

“Fine.” Andrew had a couple of ‘chips’ then finished off the whiskey in his glass. “Your turn.”

“Oh joy,” Abram sighed as he sat up on his stool, then seemed to think about his question. “You said something the one time about being medicated. Why?”

Yeah, Andrew knew that was going to bite him on the ass. “I’m surprised you hadn’t heard about that. You know the deal about Palmetto State, right?” He had another fry while Abram gave him a questioning look. “That they take in fuck-ups for the Exy team.”

“Yes, for the most part.” Abram hesitated for a moment. “There was something about you having a record, wasn’t there? You even mentioned it.”

“So you heard that much?”

Abram frowned a little as he toyed with his glass. “A little – I’d wondered about the whole Kevin Day thing, and there was mention of you. Mention that you spent a couple of years in a detention center and had a record, so the implication was that you weren’t to be messed with, to be honest.”

“You could say that.” Andrew gave the Brit a humorless smile for a moment. “I did spend some time in a juvenile detention center when I was younger for ‘violent tendencies’, and got out to go live with my family in Columbia. So when I kicked the shit out of some homophobic assholes who were beating up my cousin Nicky one night after I turned eighteen?” He noticed Abram’s slight flinch at that, possibly for Nicky. “Yeah, the law wasn’t that pleased with me and decided that ‘mercy’ wasn’t the best thing to do. They ordered me to be medicated for three years on mood-altering drugs to keep me from being a menace to society.” Three years of being forced to feel, of drug-induced mania… Andrew had nightmares about it, sometimes.

Abram didn’t say anything, just looked down at the counter then picked up his glass and drained about half of it in two swallows. “What, nothing to say?” Andrew taunted.

“What do you want me to say?” Abram asked in a soft, too-polite voice. “’I’m sorry’ doesn’t do you a damn bit of good. In fact, I can’t think of a single thing to say that will make what they did to you any better, so yes, I’ll say nothing.”

At least he was being honest, and yes, he was right. Andrew was so sick and tired of that useless ‘I’m sorry’, and if one more person said ‘they were just trying to make things better’, there would be blood. At least Abram had the balls to be up front about everything.

Because nothing would make it better. Nothing would give Andrew back those years or that loss of control. Of how hollowed out and empty he’d felt for so long after coming off the meds. Even after these last few years, when he had fought hard to feel anything again… there was so little to feel. So little to inspire him. At least, until lately. Until that night in the alley back in Stuttgart, when he’d felt alive for the first time in forever.

Which was why he was going to get that damn tattoo and prove to Abram that he wasn’t going anywhere, because he’d felt less bored in the past few weeks than he’d felt in years. And even if he was frustrated, even if nothing would ever come out of this annoying *want*, it was still so unique to feel it, so unusual. So much better than useless rage and apathy and numbing boredom.

“So, my turn again?”

“Ah.” Abram seemed to debate it for a moment before giving a one-shoulder shrug. “Why not.”

Maybe something safer, after bringing up Abram’s mother. “How did you do that thing today, did you know how to spot that the guy was a fake?”

Abram smiled a little, but the expression had a good bit of self-depreciation in it. “I told you, I study a lot.” He swirled the remainder of gin in his glass as he once more took to staring at the island’s surface. “I pick up things while I’m translating, I research stuff, and there’s people who send me things as well, people who work for the family, like Lilya - Liliya, I mean.” Andrew recalled the pretty woman who helped him with his clothes. “She keeps me up to date on the Ukrainian stuff.”

It was rather sad that was how a grown man spent all that time, Andrew thought. “Don’t you ever take a break?”

“I run.” At Andrew’s disgusted look, Abram sighed. “You have a brother, doesn’t he care that you’re living over here? I don’t see you talk to anyone other than Nicky, and barely at that.”

Andrew had some whiskey before he answered. “We’re not close, despite the fact that we’re twins. My mother placed me up for adoption right after I was born, and I drifted through a series of foster homes.” He refused to think about what happened to him in those foster homes. “At one point, a police officer who had worked with me as a charity case came across my twin and mistook him for me, much to Aaron’s misfortune. That led to Aaron, my twin, finding out about me, and eventually I ended up moving in with him and my mother when I got out of the detention center.” It was a broad summary of things, but Abram didn’t seem to care. “Aaron and I… we we’re too different.” In too many ways. “We only stayed together because our lovely mother, Tilda died.” Because Andrew had killed her for daring to hurt Aaron, not that Aaron had ever appreciated that fact.

He wondered if something had come through in his expression or tone, because Abram’s expression sharpened, but the Brit didn’t say anything. “Anyway, we went to Palmetto State together, but we barely tolerated each other.” Only because of their deal, and that Wymack had recruited all three of them. And once the darling Katelyn had come into the mix? Oh, that hadn’t been good at all. “Our last year together, he found out I was gay and it didn’t go over very well.” It was Andrew’s turn to shrug. “Come graduation, we went our separate ways, me to the job at Penzer Corp. and him off to Charleston with his girlfriend to work on his pre-med degree. They got married a year or so ago.” And that was that; Andrew poured himself some more whiskey and drank it down.

“I see, I think.” Abram studied Andrew for another second or two before he looked into his glass. “That’s…well, it seems as if you tried to make it work, so I guess it’s a shame. Nicky talks about him from time to time, he sounds like even more of a prat than you, to be honest.”

Andrew narrowed his eyes at the man. “Was that a pathetic attempt at a compliment? A fucked up, pathetic compliment?”

Abram had the audacity to smile. “Perish the thought.”

Andrew huffed a little as he folded his arms over his chest. “To answer your question, no, I don’t think Aaron gives a shit where I am right now, as long as it’s nowhere near Charleston.”

“Well, you are rather whiny and demanding,” Abram pointed out.

“I know how to feed myself at least.”

That argument earned Andrew an exaggerated eye roll. “I bet you’ll cry if someone scratches that precious hunk of metal of yours downstairs.”

“Before or after I break off their hand?” Andrew gave a curt nod when Abram just shook his head and finished his gin. “Right. Now, my turn again.” When the Brit didn’t object, Andrew stacked the empty take-out containers and leaned his elbows on the table. “How do you know Liliya?

Abram went still at the question for some reason; Andrew just wanted to know how Abram knew the Ukrainian woman, since they seemed to be friends back at Harrods, since Andrew had noticed that she had been very careful about personal space and that Abram... Abram didn't really talk to many people here in London. In a way it wasn't a surprise to find that she was related to the Hatfords in some way, but the man's reaction right now indicated that maybe that relation wasn't the greatest.

Abram refilled his glass and then drained it down before he got up, his motions jerky. Andrew watched that and leaned back on his stool. "You don't have to answer."

It took a few seconds before Abram spoke. "No. No, you'll hear about it eventually." He gave a brittle laugh. "It gets out some way or another." He stared at the cabinets in front of him before he turned around, his fingers buried in his thick hair before they clasped behind his neck. "I was with my mother, and then she died." That came out a bit too flat, as if he was doing his best to distance himself from things. "I thought it was best to come live with my uncles, considering... well, considering." His head tilted to the side a little.

"The Moriyamas," Andrew supplied.

"Yes, them and... well, it was best." His hands broke apart to dig into his shoulders, and Andrew remembered catching sight of scars on his upper body, that day he had seen the tattoos. "The thing is, my mum, she could have come to them earlier, had even brought me to meet them at one point, but wasn't sold on the idea of me growing up with the family." His grey eyes grew even more distant for a moment. "I don't... there was so much she never told me, but for some reason she decided then that it wasn't best, me staying here. So Uncle Stuart put me in a boarding school while he and Uncle Will tried to figure out what to do with me, what was the best way to honor their sister's wishes. Maybe give me a little time, wait until I was an adult and could choose my own path." He fell silent again as his hands dropped from his shoulders; his right hand began to twist around his left wrist.

"And?" Andrew prompted while he refilled his glass, having a feeling he'd need some more whiskey for whatever Abram told him.

The smile on Abram's face just then was an awful thing to behold, so twisted and broken.

"The Moriyamas found me, and sent the Popescu cousins to grab me right around the time that they had some people from America come over in an attempt to take out several of the family's main members. While Uncle Will fought off a takeover - Uncle Stuart, Henry and Jamie quite literally - I spent several days with the Popescu cousins, who were human traffickers. Apparently, they had orders to ensure I was brought to the Moriyamas in... an amiable condition," Abram said, his tone much too light for what the topic. His only sign of distress was the way that his hand kept twisting around his wrist.

Andrew didn't need it spelled out for him any more than that. "And Liliya?" The question came out a little rougher than he liked, because he could imagine all too well what those monsters must have done to what sounded to be a teenaged boy. Ally had indicated that there had been a few of them, and all of them had done something to Abram.

"She was in the flat where they held me, part of the merchandise at the time." Abram seemed to realize what he was doing to his wrist and forced himself to stop. "After a few... well, eventually they got careless and I managed to get a hand free." That parody of a smile was back as he held up his reddened left wrist and Andrew got a good look at the scar tissue. "All the blood made it slippery, you know, and what was a bit more pain at that point?  I took out two of them, but couldn't finish Vasile before falling down on my face. Most of the girls were useless, but Lilya patched me up, kept watch over me until the family tracked me down from where Vasile went for help."

He stared at his wrist for a moment before shaking his head and letting his arm drop down to his side. "The family offered to send the girls back home if they wanted or to shuffle them off to some groups who help out victims like them, but Lilya wouldn't have it." A slight, true smile tugged on his lips. "She'd had enough, wanted what she'd been through to be for something, her and another girl, and the family respected that. Elena's off in France helping Sabine, but some of the women who work for the family here helped Lilya, taught her enough English, polished her up a bit and got her the job at Harrods. It's amazing how much a rich and powerful person will say in front of a pretty woman whose English seems a bit dubious."

"And she helps you with your Ukrainian," Andrew added.

"Yes, she's great with that," Abram agreed as he came back over to the island for some more gin, his hands trembling a little as he poured it; seemed he had a pretty good tolerance once he let go. "Does a bit of undercover work when needed, though Liz backs her up on that." His smile strengthened upon mentioning Jamie’s assistant. "They're together, been now for about a year."

"Well, I guess that's one way to ensure that none of the guys showing up for suits will hit on her," Andrew commented, remembering Liz's topic of discussion at the birthday party.

"Most definitely, especially since Liz fell hard for her years ago." Abram sipped at his drink as he seemed to think about something. "So that's Lilya." From the way he bit off the words, that was also the end to their game for the day.

It was also a definite answer to some things that others had skirted. Andrew still didn't know about Abram's father, about why some people thought that the man made Abram a more suitable candidate than Jamie... but he had a feeling he'd gotten more out of the Brit today than he could have hoped for and to let matters rest for a while.

He got up to fetch the cake that Bren had brought over, to go along with the whiskey and the greasy fish and fries (seriously, just call the things that, what was with the whole 'chip' shit?), and caught sight of Abram grimacing. "What?"

"How do you eat all of that?"

"I'm a growing boy," Andrew told him with a straight face. "That and some idiot seems determined to run me into the ground. I need to replenish my strength after that."

Abram just shook his head. "I don't want to hear you whining about needed anything else to eat for at least a few more hours then. I'm going to get some work in while you revel in your gluttony." He gave a loose sort of wave as he headed off to his bedroom, which was fine with Andrew since it left him alone with the cake and his thoughts.

The next day got off to a quiet start - well, quiet other than the fact that Abram dragged Andrew off for another torturous run, since their previous one was ruined and Andrew needed to burn off all that cake, according to the idiot. It was after Andrew was texting Stuart about how he was going to hamstring the man's nephew so he didn't have to put up with such shit anymore that the first text came in, one from an unfamiliar number. Wondering if it was from someone working for Stuart or Jamie, he tapped on it... and saw that it was from Renee. From someone he hadn't spoken to in over a year, from someone who currently was in Africa tending to the needy or some other nonsense like that.

She wished him well and said that she was happy that he seemed good and had found a new job, that from the sounds of it had finally landed on his feet. She hoped that he'd reply but would understand if he didn't. But for him to know that she missed him.

He stared at it for so long that Abram asked if something was wrong.

"Yes, I'm going to kill Nicky," Andrew said after a minute, which prompted Abram to give him a considering look for a few seconds.

"Well, I guess that's better than going after the neighbors. Remember to do Erik as well, or he'll raise too much of a fuss."

Andrew regarded his friend in return. "You've got issues." Not that Andrew had much of a leg to stand on, but he felt it should be known.

"So I hear," Abram said without any obvious care as he typed away at something. "But I haven't been caught yet, so listen to me."

Neither had Andrew, but it still was a good point about Erik. Something to consider, he told himself as he stepped out onto the balcony and lit a cigarette before dialing a certain pest. Even though Nicky was at work, he answered on the third ring.

"Ah, Andrew! Imagine you calling me!," Nicky said, voice sounding more than a little anxious.

"Yes, imagine that," Andrew told him. "Also, imagine you giving out my new phone number. Now imagine me breaking your hands for doing that."

"I had no choice!" Nicky said in a rush. "They were all calling me and demanding to know what it was! They wouldn't stop until I gave in, there were texts and voicemails and they were all over my-"

"Shut up," Andrew ordered, well aware of who 'they' were and their antics; it was why he'd changed his phone number after leaving PSU and wasn't on any social media. "I'm sure the fact that you have no spine whatsoever didn't help."

"I have a spine," Nicky mumbled. "It was harassment, I tell you."

Yeah, and Nicky just wanted to be liked, plain and simple. Out of the four of them, he had gotten along the best with the rest of the Foxes, had stayed in some sort of contact with them, especially Renee. "So you told them."

"Well, I told Renee," Nicky admitted.

And Renee had probably told Dan and Allison, who had told Matt at the least. Wonderful. "Pray that we don't return to Stuttgart anytime soon," he warned his cousin.

"’We’? Uhm, so how is Abram doing?"

Andrew hung up on the moron, then stared at his phone for a minute or two, the city of London looming in front of him, before he began to respond to Renee. 'don't miss you at all. doing well. don't listen to Nicky.' Then he hit 'send' before he could reconsider the impulse.

*******

"Why are we doing this again?"

"Because I want to see how much I've improved," Andrew told Abram as he shoved a bowl of popcorn at him. "Now shut up and follow," he snapped as he grabbed another bowl of what looked to be caramel covered popcorn along with a six-pack of water and then left the kitchen to head to the loft.

Mind full of everything else he could be doing that evening, Abram gave in and ‘followed’ his friend so they could watch a movie, some action film in Mandarin subbed with English. Since Andrew was the only one with a television, they were in his 'bedroom', the first time that Abram was up in the loft since the American had moved in. He had to admit there had been a few changes.

Andrew had 'requested' a padded chair, a small dresser, an end table and a couple of bookcases, giving the large, open area a lived in look as well as places to put the items he'd accumulated in the past two months. There was his laptop, books, various knickknacks and personal items, his clothes and accessories, and even a couple framed photos. Abram was surprised to see himself in one of them, when Bren or Davis or someone must have snapped the photo of him and Andrew out one night, dressed up in their suits and with smoke billowing around them from their cigarettes, Andrew's brow slightly furrowed and Abram appearing thoughtful, while Stuart loomed in the background with that 'why do I have to put up with these idiots?' look of his.

There was a bottle of whisky already on the end table, along with a remote, and Andrew dropped down on the futon with the stuff he'd brought up, so Abram guessed that he was stuck with his bowl of popcorn and the chair. Once he was settled, he had a bottle of water tossed his way and the movie was started.

The popcorn was too sweet for his taste but the movie wasn't too bad, the subtitles mostly accurate. Andrew had the occasional biting comment for plot holes or unrealistic fighting technique, but on the whole focused on the movie, on the actors speaking, so Abram did his best to be quiet. As such, his mind drifted from time to time, since watching movies wasn't really his thing.

He was surprised to find that living with Andrew had turned out better than he'd thought. It helped that Andrew didn't get in his way too much, that the American respected his boundaries - Andrew had his loft, Abram his bedroom, and neither was bothered once they retreated to those areas. Andrew was also mindful of physical space, which made Abram wonder what had happened to Andrew over the years to make him so cut off, so opposite from his cousin. Yet he said that he was gay, so did that imply that he did want-

No, no point thinking about such things. Whatever Andrew did or didn't do, whatever he wanted or didn't want was Abram’s business; he'd said it wouldn't affect Abram and he'd kept to that word, and that was all that mattered.

Still, it was difficult not to think about the man, considering how much they were in each other's presences, how they lived together. They'd gone back to Paris twice, Calais and Cologne once, and Abram was getting used to having Andrew at his side, a sardonic, smoking shadow. Was getting used to people nodding to him and then looking for Andrew to be right behind him. Which was rather frightening, because the last person he'd been used to like that was his mother.

He told himself it was all right, that this time he was stronger, he was better. He wouldn't rely on Andrew so much, no matter what Uncle Stuart or Jamie said. He had his knives and could do more than run, could stand on his own two feet. Had been doing that ever since that day he'd forced himself off of that filthy bed in that flat back in North Tottenham, and he'd never depend on anyone to protect him, to look after him, ever again.

Not even Andrew.

When the movie ended, Abram got up and left the popcorn on the end of the futon. "Well, how'd you do?"

Andrew gave a slight shrug. "Understood a small part of it."

"Not too bad," Abram told him; he was a bit impressed, really, but Andrew had that eidetic memory going for him. "Let me know if you want any help practicing." He had offered before, but Andrew wanted to memorize more vocabulary before he started.

Andrew seemed to think about it before he nodded. "All right, probably soon."

Abram wished his friend a good night and went down to his own bedroom, where he washed off and got ready for bed.

It was a cold, rainy morning, and Andrew gave Abram an equally chilly look when Abram stared out the windows; December was iffy enough for running, but the almost sleet was apparently a deal-breaker for the American. "I will stab you if you even think about it," Andrew warned.

"You're growing soft," Abram taunted before heading off to the treadmill.

"I'll remember that the next time some guy tries to cave your head in," Andrew remarked as he went over to the weights to work on his arms, referring to the incident in Calais.

"I thought you liked to earn your keep," Abram shot back as he started up the treadmill.

"Living with you is work enough," Andrew muttered, to which Abram flipped him off before they both focused on their workouts.

Still, as a peace offering (and to annoy the bastard by making him get his precious car wet), Abram offered to treat for breakfast, to which Andrew gave in with a bit of ill grace (also, Bren was busy with work, Davis was out with Stuart and Cal didn't answer his phone). They washed off and got dressed in something casual before stepping into the elevator, Andrew busy texting someone along the way.

"Any trips planned in the near future?"

"Maybe Edinburgh." Abram fussed with the left sleeve of his leather coat, which was riding up a bit. "Jamie sent me an email last night about us checking out something for her there, but she wasn't very specific. I think she's still gathering a bit of information."

Andrew's eyes narrowed as if he was considering something. "Messy?"

"Potentially, though sometimes it just helps to have a family member show up from time to time. Gives the people running things in the area added incentive to do their jobs." At least, that was Abram's hope, since the city wasn't usually a problem area.

Andrew made a disgruntled sound as the elevator opened and he went to step outside. "As long as I'm not stuck dumping bo-" One moment he was fine, was checking out things as he walked out in front of Abram, and the next he was falling down as he choked out a cry. Abram grabbed at him, felt Andrew's left hand latch onto his arm, and dashed forward as fast as he could with both his friend's impressive weight and while crouched over when something bit into the cement wall near him.

Someone was shooting at them.

"Get-"

"Shut up," Abram hissed as he managed to get them over to the nearest car, some service van. Oh, good, no complaints from Andrew about his precious sports car being shot up, something in their favor.

"Don't tell-"

Abram shoved the pain in the ass down onto the ground and glared as he leaned in close; the bullet had hit Andrew in the side, but it didn't look bad, didn’t look as if it had hit anything vital. "Keep quiet and lay here," he whispered. "They need me alive, so play dead." He glared at his friend until Andrew gave a slight nod and then slumped over as if passed out, and then rose up while he palmed a knife in each hand.

"Don't make us come after you, Nathaniel," someone called out in Russian. "That will annoy us."

"Good," he called back in the same language. "Why should I be the only one annoyed right now?" For them to get into the garage, they had to either have cracked the code somehow... or gotten it from someone. He was beginning to wonder about Cal's silence.

There was a rough bark of laughter. "You won't fare too well with our annoyance. Unless that's what you want? Is it, Nathaniel?"

"Come close enough to find out," Abram taunted as he began to slide around the van, and smiled at the man who had thought to sneak up on him.

That close, the gun was useless, but a knife? Not so much, especially when Abram was used to fighting people bigger than him, people stronger and with a longer reach. He'd learned long ago that there would always be someone stronger than him and so focused on speed and flexibility, and a sharp knife slicing along one's hand and arm? Yep, great at making your enemy drop their weapon, which he kicked away as he ducked in close to slash at vital points when the man screamed in both rage and pain.

One down, but now they were closing in, the other three. Abram ducked and rolled as one fired a mostly warning shot and got behind another car, then flinched when there was a stray shot that seemed to come out of nowhere and a car alarm went off. Yet he didn't hesitate for long since it distracted the Russians; he went for the nearest while another shot rang out and managed to spin the tallest guy around and send him stumbling to the ground. Abram got under his target's guard and slashed both high and low, taking a glancing shot to his left shoulder which he forced himself to ignore, and Andrew got a better shot in on the last Russian as he stumbled against a parked sedan.

Breathing heavily, Abram made sure that Andrew appeared mostly all right before he went to finish off the other two; questioning would be nice, but they couldn't take any chances, not with Andrew injured.  "Call Davis," he ordered. "Tell him the place needs to be locked down."

Andrew grimaced as he dropped the borrowed gun, his left hand pressed against the wound in his side as he fumbled for his phone. "He can do that?"

"Yes, and he needs to do it now, before someone comes along." Abram took care of the last guy and stood up; Andrew needed to spend some time on the target range in the near future, obviously. While Andrew spoke on the phone to Davis, he wiped his hands as clean as he could manage and pulled out his own phone to call Jason, since this was going to require a bit of coordinated effort.

"Abram?"

"Yeah," he said as he winced at the twinge in his shoulder. "We've got a major mess here at the apartment, four bags for disposal and the place about to be put on lockdown. They got into the garage."

There was silence on the phone for a moment. "The Roms?" Jason asked, and Abram could hear him pacing in the background.

"No, seems they've made some new friends," Abram explained. "They're beginning to be a problem." But they were definitely tied to the Moriyamas, considering they had called him by his birth name. "We're also going to need some attention for the Yank, he's got a scratch."

"I'll send Annie along, then," Jason told him. "Unless he needs to go elsewhere?"

Abram spied Andrew rifling through one of the body's pockets and smiled a little. "Think he'll be all right."

"Then get your asses out of there. From what I can tell, people are already on their way."

"All right." Abram caught Andrew's attention and motioned to the elevator. "Sorry for the hassle."

Jason laughed a little like that. "You keep us on our toes. Now get back upstairs before your cousin has a heart attack."

Hanging up the phone, Abram tucked it into his pocket as he followed Andrew into the elevator, then punched in the code that would override the shutdown and take them up to the top floor. "Someone will be along soon to look at your side."

"And your arm?"

Abram went to shrug and winced again, both from the pain and the feel of blood running down his arm. "It can wait until after you're patched up."

Andrew stared at him for a few seconds, which made Abram uncomfortable because he couldn't figure out why or what the look meant, and then Andrew just shook his head. Fortunately they arrived at their floor soon after that and got into the apartment, where Abram went to fetch a clean towel to help his friend press against the wound until Annie arrived.

She got there in about fifteen minutes, escorted by Liz, and carrying a large bag filled with medical supplies. Right away she had Andrew stripped from the waist up, which made Abram uncomfortable for some reason, and after some poking and prodding which made Andrew curse, declared that the bullet had gone through and that he would be all right not going to the hospital as long as he took it easy for the next few days. She shot him up with some antibiotics and painkillers and then stitched him up before finishing wiping him clean and telling him to rest the next day or two because of the blood loss. Liz grabbed some clean clothes for him from the loft since he'd spend the rest of the day on the couch in the living room, and while he changed in the bathroom, it was Abram's turn to suffer through Annie's care.

His coat and sweater were a lost cause, and now he was uncomfortable since _he_ was bare from the waist up. However, Annie had patched him up a few times before and didn’t seem to notice his scars anymore, though he was acutely aware of when Andrew came out of the bathroom and stopped to look at him. He refused to meet the American’s eyes, instead focusing his attention on Annie’s feet while he sat on one of the bar stools and waited for her to finish with the gunshot wound.

“Just a graze,” she said after she cleaned it. “Not worth any stitches.”

“I feel so lucky,” Abram drawled, and winced as she packed the wound. “Ow.”

“I thought you had a higher tolerance than that,” Annie chided. “What, you want a shot of the good stuff, too?”

“I’d rather not,” Abram admitted; he preferred his wits about him, even if it hurt more. A quick glance to the side revealed that Andrew had moved on, for which he was grateful.

As soon as Annie was done, he fled into his bedroom for a tank top while she peeled off the rubber gloves and cleaned up, and came back out to her setting out a few medicine bottles. “Antibiotics for the both of you, some iron pills for the Yank to help him with the blood loss, and pain meds.” She gave him a stern look. “He should have them for the first couple of days, and don’t push yourself. Call me if there’s any sign of infection, and change the bandages regularly.” She also left them with a stack of bandages, some rubber gloves, and some disinfectant wash.

“I know the drill by now,” Abram assured her, having dealt with numerous injuries without the aid of any medical professional, just him and his mother. Having Annie and the other family ‘doctors’ around these last few years had been a vast improvement.

Annie waved aside his words as she gathered up her bag, and Liz gave him a sympathetic smile. “Jamie said not to step a toe outside the door until they know what’s going on. Between you and me, I think you’ll be moving soon, since it’s clear the place has been compromised.”

“Lovely,” Abram sighed as he did his best to not rub at his sore shoulder. He saw the two women out the door, then went to the fridge to fetch some water, a bottle of which he took over to Andrew, who was sprawled out on the couch.

“Still all in there?” he asked as he held out the bottle.

“I hate being medicated,” Andrew admitted as he slowly reached for it.

“I think you’ll appreciate it when the pain meds wear off.” Abram stood there and twisted off the cap to his own bottle. “It’s up to you if you want to take the pills, but might be a good idea to for at least the first day or so. I don’t think we’ll be going anywhere, and you’ll heal faster that way.”

Andrew was quiet for a moment. “Speaking from experience?”

Abram fought against the urge to trace one of his many scars. “Just a little.”

“Huh.” Andrew had some water himself as he stared at something on the far wall. “So, who is ‘Nathaniel’?”

The question almost made Abram drop his bottle of water, it was so unexpected… but really, he should have known better. Andrew had proven to be quick to pick up things these last few weeks, enough to make Abram uncomfortable at times. So of course he would have heard that name amongst all the Russian, even when shot and pretending to be dead or unconscious.

“I’m not doing this right now,” Abram told him, uncaring that Andrew was laid out on his couch with a bullet wound because of him. No, the American hadn’t run when he’d been warned off, had barged into Abram’s life and refused to leave, so it was all on him. There was only so much Abram owed him, and it wasn’t that truth, not right then.

“You’re a lousy fucking shot,” Abram snapped as he stalked back into the kitchen. “And a terrible lookout. Could have had your fool head blown off. Bren will take care of the first, will take you to the gun range when you’re healed.” He went over to the cabinet which held the gin, screw water right then. “Maybe getting shot once will help you with the other. If not, I’m sure we’ll find some volunteers to keep winging you until you do learn.” He’d offer up his services, oh yes he would. “Bloody fucking Americans who think they’re invincible. Fucking prat. Have you even shot a gun before today? Could have shot _me_ , you fucking prat.” He wasn’t sure where all the anger had bubbled up from, but it felt good, felt so much better than panic or fear or guilt. “Fucking Americans and guns.”

He’d just grabbed the bottle and was going for a tumbler – no, screw a _tumbler_ , a nice big glass, yes, that would be better – when a hand reached over and plucked the glass away, making Abram jolt back in surprise; somehow Andrew had gotten up off of the couch and snuck up on him. The American didn’t look too great just then, his face sweaty and pale, but his eyes were clear and his expression rather annoyed.

“I saved your damn life, you idiot.”

“Funny, I thought it was the other way around,” Abram pointed out as he snatched back the glass. “Besides, I told you that they wouldn’t have killed me.”

Andrew huffed again. “Well, aren’t you the lucky one.” He winced a little then took to leaning against the counter as if he hadn’t the energy to stand up all the way. “Somehow, I doubt you’d have been happy if they got their hands on you.”

Bastard. “You’re still a fucking prat,” Abram informed the man while he poured himself some gin, for some reason the clear liquid splashing all about.

“A ‘fucking prat’ who kept you from being hauled away by some assholes,” Andrew argued. “What the hell is your problem?”

There wasn’t an answer for that, not really. Or maybe it was too long, too convoluted; the family had been after Abram to see a therapist for years. Oh, wouldn’t that be fun? he thought as he tossed back the alcohol. Where to possibly begin? “We don’t have nearly enough time to get into that,” Abram told his friend with a slight laugh.

Andrew regarded him for a few seconds before he pulled the bottle of gin close enough so he could pick it up and drink straight from it. Abram made a slight face of disgust before he sighed. “First off, I don’t think that mixes well with the pain medication Annie gave you. Second, that’s mine. I don’t drink your whisky.”

“I don’t give a fuck,” Andrew told him once he set the bottle down. “Now, again. What’s your problem?”

Abram rubbed at his face and tried to make sense of all the conflicting thoughts and emotions. “You shouldn’t have to die because of me, all right? I’m not worth it.” He thought that was at the heart of it. Though yes, questions about his past like before weren’t appreciated, either.

It was quiet for about a minute, and just when it looked as if Andrew was going to say anything, there was a knock on the door.  Andrew spun around at the noise and nearly ended up falling on his ass, which was slightly amusing to see.

“Go back to the couch,” Abram ordered. “No one can get up here now unless they’re family or cleared by the family, so it’s all right.”

Of course Andrew didn’t listen to him and followed along, and Abram was proven right when he opened the door to find Uncle Stuart on the other side. “Uhm, hello?”

“Don’t you ‘hello’ me,” Uncle Stuart grumbled. “Couldn’t you be considerate and keep being attacked in some dark alley or wharf?”

Abram gave his uncle a cold smile. “I’m sorry, did I interrupt something important? Busy day at the office?”

“Mouthy brat,” Uncle Stuart grumbled as he stepped into the apartment. “Oh, look, the midget goth is still alive. I thought he got shot.”

“I did. I survived,” Andrew said as he leaned against the wall near the door. “Do I get a bonus for that?”

“You get a ‘dodge better’ next time, you stupid git,” Stuart told Andrew as he removed his coat.

Andrew gave Abram a sour look. “I wonder where you get that amazing sense of empathy.”

Abram just shrugged a little before looking back at his uncle. “Everything all cleaned up down there?”

Stuart scoffed at that. “It’s going to take a bit longer than that. Liz told you to stay in, right? No fucking running, no driving around, _nothing_.”

“Aw, but there’s a rave I had my heart set on later tonight,” Andrew complained. “Even bought some new eyeliner for it and everything.”

That earned him a rude gesture while Stuart gave Abram a rather harried look. “Couldn’t have shoved him a bit better into the path of that bullet, could you?”

“You were the one who hired him,” Abram took great delight in reminding his uncle.

“Too fucking early for this shite,” Stuart complained as he rubbed at his forehead. “Look, try to stay up here and out of trouble, yeah? Two whole days or something? Maybe go for a new record?”

Abram gave his new wound a tender rub. “Liz said something about us maybe moving?”

His uncle was quiet as he went into the kitchen and picked up the bottle of gin for a moment. “They got to Cal last night, from what we could tell spent hours torturing him to get the code into the garage. So yeah, we’re looking into someplace new.” He set it down and looked over at them. “You’ll be moving to Kensington, near Jamie and me.”

Okay. Abram considered that for a moment before he went over to take the bottle from his uncle and lifted it to his lips for several swallows. He’d done his best to retain a bit of independence from the family, to stand a little apart… and now he was being dragged all the more closer. First there had been Andrew, had been the bodyguard, and even if that had turned out mostly well….

“Am I going to be put on a leash next?” He asked when he set the bottle down.

“Dammit, Ram, we’re trying to keep you-“

He threw the bottle into the sink, since the alcohol wasn’t doing much good. “Why don’t I just hand myself over and save everyone the effort?” he shouted. “No more mess, no more deaths, no more… no more anything!” If he was going to be caged in, at least that way he wouldn’t have any more blood on his conscience, right? It had been a… well, no, it hadn’t quite been good, these last few years, but it had been better than he’d deserved. He’d always known he’d been living on borrowed time, and it wasn’t fair to make his family and the people who worked for them to keep paying for someone like him.

He went to leave the kitchen but Uncle Stuart got in his way, his expression livid as he held up his hands in front of Abram’s chest. “I don’t want to hear anymore shite like that out of your mouth, dammit. You’re not giving up. We’re not giving you up. Your mother would come back from the grave to haunt us if that happened – _she_ never gave up.”

“No, she just grabbed me and ran, and we all know how well that-“ Abram went quiet when Stuart smacked him hard across the mouth. His hands clenched into fists but he didn’t hit back, and out of the corner of his eye, he saw Andrew lean against the counter, his hazel eyes intent and expression too blank.

“Fuck. _Fuck_ , Ram, what are you doing?” Stuart asked as he rubbed at his face. “Why does it always have to be a damn fight with you? We’re your fucking family, let us help.”

Abram drew in a deep breath and shook his head. “Do whatever you want, it’s not like what I think matters, does it? Just tell me where to go and what to do.” Then he backed away from his uncle so he could go around the island.

“For fuck’s sake, Ram, I’m sorry! Come back here!”

Andrew watched him approach, his face expressionless. “You weren’t kidding about those problems, were you.”

“Go sit down before you rip your stitches and get blood everywhere,” Abram told him while on his way to his bedroom. He got in the room, but before he could close the door, Andrew slipped inside. “What the hell?”

“Huh, not too bad.” Andrew looked around while Abram debated shoving the rude bastard out of the doorway, then remembered about the bullet wound in time. While he hesitated, Andrew came in further and settled on the padded chair where Abram curled up some nights to do his studying.

“Again, what the hell?”

“You said to sit down.” Andrew gave him a flat look. “I’m not staying out there when your uncle is sulking. Which is your fault, you know.”

“Thank you, I didn’t know that,” Abram said with a heavy dose of sarcasm as he sat down on his bed. “So helpful you are.”

“Yeah.” Andrew slouched down a little on the chair as if to make himself comfortable. “You done freaking out for now?”

Abram was beginning to regret getting rid of the gin. “I wasn’t freaking out, and I believe I prefer to be alone.”

“Tough shit, and yes you were.”

It really wasn’t his day, was it? “What happened to ‘come into my area and I’ll stab you’?” Abram asked as he ran his right hand through his hair.

“You never said the same thing about your own bedroom,” Andrew pointed out with some satisfaction as he tugged up his black t-shirt to look at his bandages. Abram stared on in fascination for several seconds until he realized that he _was_ starting.

“Fine, for future reference, barging into my room uninvited will get you stabbed. Now kindly get your ass out of it.” Abram pointedly looked at the door, to which Andrew did not go through, of course. “You’re not leaving.”

“Why the hissy fit? I thought you liked your uncle?”

“Dammit, I am _not_ in the mood for questions,” Abram insisted as he buried his face in his hands, his left side sore from where Stuart had hit him. When all Andrew did was sit there in annoying silence, he sighed. “How would you feel if people kept dying because of you? Would you like it?”

Andrew frowned at the question and let his shirt drop down to cover his rather impressive abs. “No.”

“I would hope not,” Abram snapped. “And in addition to that, to having these people die for no good reason, you don’t really gain anything from it. Your life’s not really any better off.” He’d stopped running, but he wasn’t really free, was he? He kept to himself and kept busy in order to be as little a burden to the family as possible, but that wasn’t working anymore. Now he was going to be kept caged by the family, and that made it all the more unbearable. “So what’s the damn point of it all?” he asked as the sense of frustration rushed back to the fore.

The room was quiet for a little bit, until Andrew spoke. “Who says it’s for no good reason?”

It wasn’t quite a laugh, what came out of Abram just then. “No one who signs up with the family decides they’re going to die for me. It happens by mistake and ill fortune.” He gave his ‘friend’ a mocking smile. “Best to go out there and see if Uncle Stuart is still moping around, see if he’ll find another job for you. Got lucky today, tomorrow might be quite different.” Tomorrow the bullet might not be off-target, or Andrew so quick to notice the threat. Tomorrow it might not be some Russians hired to handle a bit of property gone astray, but the Malcolms sent back to London, or maybe Plank.

It really was only a matter of time, so Abram didn’t understand why Stuart had reacted that way. Well, it probably was a bit much, the comment about Abram’s mother, but it had been the truth. So much could have been avoided if she’d just accepted Abram’s fate and left him to the Moriyamas. Maybe he could be playing Exy right now along with Kevin and Riko.

Maybe he would have failed his ‘trial’ and been killed. Some days, he had dreams about it, about Tetsuji claiming he wasn’t good enough and handing him back to his father. Try as he might, he couldn’t think of them as nightmares. Not compared to everything else. No, the real nightmare was waking up and realizing that he had to keep going on, some days.

“-listening to me, you fucking idiot?”

“What?” Abram was startled from his thoughts by Andrew’s rather annoyed voice. “What was that?”

“I said, are you listening to me, you fucking idiot,” Andrew repeated, sounding even more irate even though his expression was somewhat bland just then. When Abram gave him an exasperated look by way of an answer, Andrew got out of the chair and came near the bed.

The man’s presence should have made Abram nervous or angry, but he was tired of everything despite the early hour of the day and… and it was Andrew. In the couple of months they’d been together, it was clear that – bedroom barging aside – Andrew respected his space. So he just sighed and looked up at the American when Andrew stopped right next to him. “What?” he repeated.

“I’m beginning to wonder if that bullet somehow hit you in the head as well as the shoulder,” Andrew ground out. “Because you’re not usually this damn dense.” While Abram glared at him, he tugged down the collar of his t-shirt to expose the tattoo he’d gotten just a couple of weeks ago on the left side of his upper chest. “I told you, I’m _staying_. I’m staying, and I’m putting up with your incredibly infantile ass because apparently, no one else can.”

“I don’t find this amusing,” Abram felt it should be known. “And I’m not cleaning up the blood when you tear those god-damned stitches.”

Andrew just sneered at him. “Here’s an answer on advance, you fucking idiot,” Abram was getting tired of that insult, “I make deals. I make deals with people because I am very serious about my word, and I got tired of people promising me things and never following through. So if I promise you something? I’ll honor it, but you have to hold up your end of the bargain. You don’t? That’s it, we’re through.”

Abram remembered him mentioning something about an agreement before, something about his medication and his coach. “Why are you telling me this?”

Andrew let go of the collar of his shirt. “Because I’ll make this deal with you – I’ll stay and I’ll protect you from the Moriyamas and whatever else, and you never even think of giving yourself up again, understand?”

It didn’t make any sense. “But why? You put your life on the line for someone like me, when-“ Abram fell quiet when Andrew placed an arm against the headboard of his bed and leaned near him.

“Stop talking about yourself like that,” Andrew told him, his tone furious. “And I’m tired of the Moriyamas winning. Kevin went crawling back to them in the end as if all those years away were nothing. No one’s figured out what the hell goes on at Evermore – worse, no one cares enough to expose it. Now they’re trying to fuck with things here? I’m not going to let them.”

“You’re fucking insane,” Abram wanted to point out.

“You’re not exactly a bastion of mental health yourself,” Andrew said as he leaned back a little. “So what is it? Yes or no?”

Abram pressed his hand against his left cheek, which still felt a bit warm, and considered the offer. By all rights he should say ‘no’, should tell Andrew to fuck off and get out of his room… but he had a feeling that Andrew would refuse to leave. That if he did walk out and let the next Moriyama pawn grab him, that the fool would do something stupid to try to stop it. That maybe Uncle Stuart and Jamie and a few others would step in, too, and it would be the bloodbath that Abram wanted to avoid. Why were things never simple? Why couldn’t they just let him go, when it would be so much better for them?

So if he was stuck here, he might as well take Andrew’s offer – better the guard he knew and could bear than the leash which would choke him. “All right,” he said. When Andrew just gave him that annoyingly bland look in return, he sighed. “ _Yes_ , damn you.”

“Good.” Andrew nodded once and pushed back into an upright position. “I’ll call Bren about some food. Don’t spend all day sulking in here or I’ll take the damn door off,” he said as he headed for said door.

“You’re a fucking asshole,” Abram called out and just barely resisted throwing something at him – Annie would be furious if she had to come back and patch one of them up again.

“’Prat’, I’m a ‘prat’,” Andrew reminded him as he deliberately left the door open a little when he left.

Abram could hear murmured voices out in the rest of the apartment, so took it that Uncle Stuart hadn’t left yet. Sighing at the thought of dealing with anyone else just then, he slouched down on his bed and closed his eyes, hoping that he could trick himself into a nap for the next hour or so.

*******

His hand pressed against his side, Andrew left Abram's bedroom and was surprised to find a grim-faced Stuart still in the kitchen, making what appeared to be a pot of tea. "Don't tell me you believe that shit about how 'tea fixes everything’." Though he had to admit, he'd noticed how Abram gravitated to the beverage on the bad days, would find him nursing a cup on the nights when the younger man couldn't sleep.

Stuart gave him a sour look. "Shut your damn Yank mouth." Then he contradicted himself by asking a question. "How is he?"

Andrew hissed in pain as he more or less got up in a stool; yeah, he decided that being shot wasn't one of his favorite things, despite the lovely pain meds. "I want bonus pay for today," he grumbled, and gave Stuart a blank look for a moment while the man took to glaring at him. "He do that often? Get all pissy and 'let's just give them what they want'?"

Stuart's expression crumbled and he went back over to fuss with the pot of tea. "He does when someone dies like Cal did. Tends to take it personally."

Gee, one wondered why. "They seem rather determined to get him, the Moriyamas. Awful lot of effort and all."

Stuart was quiet while he fetched a clean mug. "Their pride's stung, they're not used to being denied something for so long. Abram's a bit of a symbol to them at this point. Also, they get their hands on him and manage to wipe out enough of us, they can take over the business, yeah? By then they'll have ensured he's toeing the line right and proper."

There had been that 'amiable' comment Abram had made, yes. Considering that the idiot hadn't broken - cracked a bit, but not broken - under the Popescus’ 'tender' care, Andrew didn't want to know what it would take for the Moriyamas to finish the job. But he had no doubt that they wouldn't stop until it was done if they got their hands on him.

Andrew wondered if Abram's father would have anything to do with it. Had anything to do with all those awful scars he'd seen when Annie had patched up the shoulder wound. Had to do with that comment about Mary Hatford 'running' with Abram.

Was the reason why no one wanted to talk about the man at all.

"So he's a bit better now, yeah?"

Stuart's question startled Andrew from his thoughts and nearly off of the stool; oh yes, definitely a downside to the meds, even if they eased the pain in his side to a dull throbbing.

"More or less. Should be over that whole 'martyr' shit of his for now." Should be over it for good, if he honored their new agreement. Andrew was a bit surprised by the fact that he'd extended yet another one when he'd thought he was finished with them, burned one too many times, but... but he'd found a new life here, one he enjoyed (despite being shot), and he wasn't going to let a suicidal idiot ruin it for him.

He got an odd look from Stuart for that. "Huh, is he still alive? I didn't hear any noise from there, nothing breaking or anything, no shouting," The bastard's eyes narrowed as he looked Andrew up and down. "You don't look like you got into a fight."

Andrew gave him the finger. "Maybe you should try talking to him and not slapping him around."

It looked as if _he_ was about to get slapped for that comment, but Stuart stepped away and shook his head after a tense moment. "Too much like his mother, he is. Stubborn as fuck and keeps pushing when he shouldn't. And that _mouth_." Yet the anger turned into a sad smile. "She was the youngest, you know. Probably more than a little spoiled because of it, got away with everything. And so much _fire_ in her." Now there was more sadness in his expression. "You can see it in him, from time to time."

Andrew thought about the two of them sniping at each other, the way Abram had swore at him earlier when they had come back at the apartment, the displays of temper whenever Abram thought that Andrew was being overprotective. "Yeah, I know."

"He doesn't like it when he feels we're boxing him in, just like she didn't. Probably what drove her to... well, it makes him do stupid stuff. Act up and all," Stuart explained. "Why he went with this apartment, rather than live closer to us. It was a compromise. He'd rather have Davis and the others look in on him than feel like Will and I are doing it, even though there's less chance of people pulling shite in Kensington. Too much scrutiny, too public an area."

"Yet you're going to do it anyway."

"Yeah." Stuart poured himself a cup of tea and began to fix it. "We'll figure something out, not too close to us but still with good security. Give him a bit of space so he's not running up the walls."

Andrew wondered if Abram realized how much consideration his family took with him, and then remembered back to the night of the party, to how Abram was certain that his uncle Will didn't like him when all Andrew saw was a man concerned about his nephew. Yeah, most likely not. "So what am I supposed to do?"

Stuart was quiet for a minute while he drank his tea, then rinsed out the mug and sat it down in the sink. "Take some tea in for that idiot and then get some rest, whatever Annie told you. Jamie will probably send enough work over to keep Ram distracted for the next day or two, and then I'll pop back in with where you'll be moving. Until then, only Bren and Davis will be stopping by, that or family. Anyone else, feel free to stab them."

"Maybe you do like me," Andrew drawled.

"Not really, I'm getting tired of cleaning up messes," Stuart grumbled.

"Tell Bren to bring us some food, we haven't eaten yet." Andrew stared at the pot of tea and just poured some into a mug; he never saw Abram add anything to it.

"You know, there's a perfectly good kitchen there, some day one of you two need to learn to use it!"

"You really want me to try when I'm on pain meds?" Andrew bared his teeth at the man. "What was that about messes?"

Stuart just looked at him before walking away, his phone in hand and mumbling about never hiring any fucking midget goths again.

Having to be careful because of the meds and the pain in his side (yeah, he really did need to sit down soon), Andrew took the tea back to Abram's room, having the courtesy to knock this time before going in. The idiot made a very amusing whining sound when Andrew entered, but his glare faded to something more neutral when he saw the cup of tea. He accepted the mug with a grateful nod, and when their fingers brushed against each other, he didn't react. Andrew paused for a moment at that, but Abram was focused on the tea, his gaze on the mug's content as if to make sure that it didn't spill, so Andrew just turned around and left.

He spent most of the day on the couch, only getting up to let Bren in for food runs, and yelled at Abram to go up to the loft to fetch his laptop and e-reader so he could have something to do since there wasn't a tv on the first floor. He almost had Bren fetch one, until he remembered that they wouldn't be there that much longer.

The next day, Abram came out of his room to work in the kitchen, so Andrew had some company while he was sprawled out on the couch; he got to practice his Mandarin with his friend in-between texts with Nicky and Renee. That night he managed to get back into his own bed, which was a relief since he hadn't felt very comfortable sleeping on the couch.

The two of them had to help each other with changing their respective bandages, and that should have bothered him, having someone so close, someone touching him - especially someone he wanted. Yet Abram was so damn mindful, so careful... except for the occasional lingering glance or two. Glances that Andrew found himself thinking about afterward while his friend found something to do, his head ducked and hair falling onto his face, suddenly quiet as if unwilling to speak. As if suddenly confused.

He wasn't the only one.

So Andrew welcomed Stuart showing up to break the news to his nephew that yes indeed, the two of them were moving to a townhouse in Kensington, a couple of blocks away from Jamie's. A private garage, more bedrooms than they would ever need, bit of a back garden, a security system that could all but sing and cook them breakfast, and filthy rich neighbors all around who had their own security and whom the Moriyamas would _not_ want to piss off.

Abram hated it, but Andrew could tell it wasn't as bad as it could be. Bren came over to help them pack up (help Abram pack up, since Andrew was still 'recovering' and just munched on cookies while they worked). Because of Abram's very 'bare bones' style of living, it didn't take very long to box up everything.

Andrew was pleased to have an excuse to drive the McLaren after a few days, as well as finally have a private garage; maybe once he made it a year of keeping a certain idiot alive, he could ask for a new model or something as a bonus. He was certainly earning the damn thing....

The new place was expensive as fuck, which explained the blank look on Abram's face as they walked around, but all Andrew cared about was that he had a proper bedroom at last, along with a proper bed. Someone would be by to take care of the place for them, since according to Stuart's words, they were a 'proper pair of hopeless fucks'. Andrew didn't care as long as they stayed out of his bedroom and he didn't have to clean.

Renee wanted to send him a housewarming present.

Nicky wanted one of the new bedrooms to be 'his'. Andrew told his cousin that he'd get a knife to the gut if he ever showed up at the new place.

After everything had been moved in and more or less set up, Andrew poured himself a whiskey and Abram a gin, and took it to where his friend was staring out the set of double doors onto the back garden. "Are you trying to mentally kill the plants or something?" Not that there were many at the time, considering it was the middle of December.

"I'm... this is a bit much." Abram accepted the glass with a slight nod. "I haven't really... this is the first house I've lived in for... well, for years."

That was interesting, wasn't it? Once again, Andrew was tempted to look up 'Mary and Nathaniel Hatford'... but he didn't. Not yet. He wanted Abram to tell him the truth about his past, about that 'running' comment and his father. With everything that had gone on since that day in the garage, it hadn't been a good time to resume their little game. But give it a few more days for them to settle in....

"Well, to new beginnings or whatever," Abram said, which made Andrew arch an eyebrow, especially when the Brit extended his glass in a toast against Andrew's. "Better have good fortune here, because I dread to see where they'll stick us if this doesn't work out," he muttered.

"I hear castles can be drafty as hell," Andrew said after a sip. "Might want to stock up on sweaters."

"Oh bloody hell," Abram moaned. "Don't curse us, dammit."

"Maybe I can get a sword, then. That'll be fun."

"There's a perfectly good garden for me to bury you in, I'm warning you," Abram said as he glared at Andrew. "If we have to move again, I'm leaving you behind in it!"

Andrew scoffed at that. "A city boy like you? I'd like to see you try."

"Go fuck yourself." Abram stomped off after giving him a rude gesture, leaving Andrew with a slight smile on his face.

Stuart was so right about that bit of fire.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Andrew's enjoying himself way too much. And Abram's a snarky little shit. I blame Stuart.
> 
> Not sure what the update schedule is going to be, it's going to get a bit busy the next week. Part of me wants to do WDWG, but maybe I should get started on the fic prompts so I can throw out little short things. Decisions....
> 
> As always, the comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!


	5. Stronger

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hmm, I keep thinking nothing happens in this chapter, but one or two things do. Little things. But yeah, they do.
> 
> Oh, and look, another Fox....  
> *******

Andrew finished toweling off and pulled on his underwear after hanging up the wet towel, then leaned over the sink to double-check that he hadn't missed any spots while shaving in the shower. Content that he hadn't, he finished getting ready for the day: put on some deodorant, threw a bit of product in his hair and brushed his teeth. His eyes lingered a little on the healed wound on his left side, the reddened flesh slowly fading into a scar, and then his gaze raised up to the bright red and blue shield on his upper chest. It still took some getting used to, the tattoo, but he had to admit, it shut those wannabee punks up the other night in Edinburgh when they had caught a glimpse of it. That had been a quick job indeed, just two nights in the Scottish city, in and out and with a minimum of fuss. Just a 'warm-up', Jamie had called it, to help get Andrew back on his feet - and Abram's mind to settle. Though she hadn't said that last bit out loud.

Still, Andrew could see it now, how much the family walked on eggshells around the young man, how everyone tried not to bring up Cal. How they were trying to give Abram some space yet watch over him at the same time. No wonder he was such a spectacular mess. Andrew wondered what Bee would make of him and his myriad issues, with his willingness to sacrifice himself but intense dislike of anyone doing the same for him. For that feeling of unworthiness.

Andrew wondered again about Mary Hatford, about how Stuart could talk about her one minute as his darling younger sister, and the next go on about how much she'd fucked up Abram, how she'd had a hand in making him the spectacular mess that he was.

What had he been like as Nathaniel?

Andrew wasn't sure, and part of him castigated himself for thinking so much about these things, but dammit, the man was a puzzle, was this huge mystery that nagged at Andrew to be solved. After being bored for so long, after living in a grey, dull world... he was feeling again, woke up each day wondering what would happen, waiting for that next jolt of adrenalin and rush of excitement. Even if all he did was work out and trade barbs all day long... there was amusement and frustration and that slow-burning want. There was still something to be felt.

So he pulled on a pair of black jeans and a warm, soft black sweater with his cell phone tucked into a pocket before he left his bedroom, one of the massive two that took up the third floor of the town house (who the fuck called things a 'terraced house'? What even was a 'terraced house'? These people here annoyed him). When he got downstairs, he found Abram in the kitchen, dressed even more casually in cotton pants and a sweatshirt, trying to make breakfast. Someone was taking their uncle's bitching about having a fancy kitchen and never using it to heart, with mixed results.

"Tell me you're not trying pancakes again - it took all day to get the smell out of the place."

Abram shot Andrew a rather irate glare over his shoulder, his hair pulled back from his face with some sort of silver clip. "Go to hell."

"I've already been there, that was your attempt at omelets, I believe," Andrew remarked as he went over to fetch some coffee, and ignored the rude gesture he got in return. One of the best ways to keep Abram on an even keel, he'd noticed, was to not coddle the idiot. Just feed him a steady dose of snark and he was fine. Well, mostly fine. Fine for Abram.

"It's scrambled eggs, I seem unable to mess up those," Abram said with a slight frown. "And bacon in the oven. If you'd be so kind to put on some toast, we'll be able to eat in a few minutes." That last bit was said with a fair amount of sarcasm, considering he was asking something of Andrew.

Still, since he was hungry and all, Andrew decided to be helpful for once. "I don't know, if anyone could fuck up scrambled eggs, my money's on you."

"Says the man who doesn't bother with any of the cooking," Abram replied with some annoyance.

"Indeed says the man who lived by himself without needing people to stock his fridge and drop off take-out for him all the time," Andrew shot back. It got him another rude gesture, which he took to mean that someone was in rare form that morning.

He got the toast done (and just resisted the temptation to overcook it), while Abram finished up the eggs (not too runny that time, maybe he was learning) and put them on the island along with the bacon. Andrew fetched some cheese and hot sauce from the fridge to doctor up his eggs and ate most of the bacon, and on the whole it was a good breakfast. If they spent most of the time checking their phones rather than talking to each other, it was fine. One of the things he liked about living with Abram was that they each had their own space and didn't force themselves on each other. If they didn't want to talk, they didn't. If they wanted to be alone, they were. Considering the size of the townhouse, they didn't need to see each other at all if they didn't want to, yet they worked out together each morning, they got together to eat, Andrew made sure to know what was going on and they tended to gravitate to each even if it was just for Abram to work on his laptop and Andrew to read in close proximity. But if things were bad, then they could still retreat to their own private areas. Hell, they each had their own private _floors_.

Abram was rinsing off the dishes to put them in the fancy dishwasher when Andrew got to the text from Renee and sighed. "Is something wrong?" his friend asked.

Andrew debated saying anything, since he knew Abram would let the matter drop. But he also knew how Renee could be with that passive-aggressive Christian shit of hers. "That one old teammate of mine is going to be in town for the holidays and asked to see me."

"Ah." Abram put the last of the silverware in the machine. "The designer?"

"No, the one doing missionary work in Africa. Apparently, it's cheaper and easier for her to come to London and spend a few days with Reynolds than to fly all the way to the States," he explained.

"Walker," Abram said, which surprised Andrew that he remembered Renee's last name like that. "It's up to you if you want to see her, but I would think it wouldn't be a problem. It's the holidays, after all, it's to be expected that you'd want a few nights off to socialize and the like."

Oh, just wait until he heard what Andrew had to say next. "I do believe she's hoping that I bring along my new 'roommate' – she wants to meet you, too."

That made Abram blink in that confused way of his. "Uhm. Oh." He took a moment to dry his hands. "Why?"

Maybe because Reynolds got it into her addled head that they were boyfriends, a theory Abram had done nothing to dispel back at the hotel the one night? Andrew shrugged while he spoke. "One thing you'll learn about Foxes is that they enjoy nothing more than meddling and then betting on whatever they're meddling about. They don't know anything about you and that bothers them. They don't know much at all about what I'm doing here in London, and that bothers them." Andrew had blocked them from most of his life back in Palmetto, and yes, that had indeed bothered them. Not that he had ever cared. Renee had been the only one of the upperclassmen he could stand, and the one rookie he'd tried to bring onto the team had lasted only a season.

So did he even want to see Renee again? It was one thing to send the occasional text or two off to her each day, each one a mix of information and insult, because part of him wanted to prove that he was still there, that he had survived and even managed to thrive despite it all, despite the people who had shaken their head at him when he'd blown off the graduation ceremony and the pro offers and driven away from Palmetto State. The last few messages he'd heard from Bee and Renee had been along the lines of 'we care about you, call us before you do something drastic'.

He wondered if they'd consider what he'd done back in Stuttgart as 'drastic' or not. It had certainly been an ending of one life in favor of another, but as always, no regrets. No regrets and no guilt. Hmm, maybe that would be his next tattoo.

Getting up from the island, he went to grab the coffee pot and eyed a contemplative Abram. "What? You thinking of the next meal to ruin?"

Abram shook his head. "No, just about your teammates.  They sound... interesting. I'm trying to figure out how you survived being with them for a few years while essentially armed with what could be considered defensive weapons."

"Too many witnesses," Andrew answered.

"Ah," Abram said with a slight nod. "And if I went with you, what would I be?" he asked as he leaned against the counter, a slight smile on his face but his pale eyes intent on Andrew.

"An alibi." It was a wonderful epiphany, to know that one didn't have to play by inane, useless rules anymore.

Abram's smile strengthened, just a little. "I suppose it'll be a new thing for me, providing one instead of requiring one."

"Fair is fair," Andrew remarked as he dug about for the sugar bowl. "Time to expand your horizons a little."

"I’ve been getting that a lot lately." Abram sounded a bit disgruntled at the moment. "Oh well, see if you can't arrange it when the family holiday get-together is, and I'll owe you one. I can't be held responsible for any 'accidents' if I have to put up with a drunk Ally and mistletoe again." That creepy smile was back as he left the kitchen, probably to fetch his laptop.

Huh, Andrew would have to ask Bren about that one, but whenever a certain roommate wasn't around. Figuring that he'd see about it the next time the two of them were alone, he sent off a text to Renee that meeting up was possible and for her to contact him when she was in town. Then he worked on his Mandarin while Abram translated a bunch of documents.

Later they got called out to Camden by Marcus, an enforcer who reported to Stuart, who wanted Abram's help with some second generation kids in the area who thought they could stir up some trouble. To be fair, they were reacting to shit stirred up by some other local teenagers, which Marcus said he had some of his men out handling, but he wanted the trouble squashed on all fronts before it escalated. Andrew followed Abram into a couple of buildings, along with Nadav and Thomas, two of Marcus' men, as Abram talked to the kids' parents in a mix of Mandarin and English that he was pleased to note he could mostly follow. The threats were there, if heavily buried in pleasant conversation and Abram's assurances that Marcus would control the other troublemakers, and it was clear that the parents would work harder to rein in their children.

Still, when a couple of kids, teens about sixteen or seventeen years old, showed up as Abram was finishing with the last business, a restaurant, they weren't happy to see that their parents were being paid a visit; Andrew picked up guilt on the older son's face, and outright anger on the younger's. He stepped in to block the younger kid from doing anything rash, but Thomas was a bit too slow and the older kid came up fast to Abram. Andrew called out his friend's name, but Abram just stood there and took the hit to his face before Nadav stepped in and hauled the scrawny bastard away while his parents rushed forward and spewed out apologies. His hand held up to his left eye, Abram just shook his head and murmured something too low for Andrew to hear as he shoved his own handful of brain-dead petulant brat away, causing the kid to stumble onto the ground, while Nadav called out a warning to the brats to grow some fucking brains and behave or else.

Andrew hovered around Abram for a moment while the younger man cursed beneath his breath, then grasped him by the elbow; he waited to see if Abram pulled away from the touch, but all Abram did was continue to swear while covering up his eye. As soon as they got near the McLaren, Andrew pushed him against the car and tugged at Abram's left arm. "Come on, let me see how bad it is." The kid couldn't have hit him that hard, could he?

"Wait, don't-" Abram choked out, but at that point, Andrew had already tugged down the idiot's hand. Even as he paused, he caught sight of an intense, icy blue peeking out from the split grey contact.

Abram had blue eyes.

"Dammit," Abram hissed as he covered up his eye again, his expression more upset than furious. "Don't... don't look." That came out almost pleading as he fumbled for something in his right pocket, which turned out to be his wallet.

"Are you all right?" Andrew asked, even though he had a feeling he knew the answer already.

"I'm fine," Abram said, voice trembling as much as his right hand as he attempted to flip open his wallet. "It's nothing. It's - shit!"

Andrew sighed as he bent down to pick the wallet up from the ground. "What are you looking for?" He flipped it open while Abram took a couple of deep breaths as if attempting to stave off a panic attack, rifled through the stack of pounds and noticed the thin plastic lens case - the type holding a new contact lens. It was a grey color lens and it didn't have any vision prescription on it, just the eye diameter, meaning that Abram wore them strictly to mask the color of those vivid eyes of his. "This?"

" _Yes_." Abram nearly snatched it from him, but Andrew shook his head and unlocked the car so the idiot could sit inside, and made him use some of the hand sanitizer he kept in the dashboard (because, well, all jokes aside, it was dirty work) to clean his hand before he removed the remnants of the old contact and put the new one in. It was going to be bad enough explaining Abram's black eye to people without also dealing with an infection on top of it.

While Abram calmed down, he went over to talk to Nadav and Thomas to see if there was anything else to do, and after giving Thomas a rather unpleasant look for messing up, returned to the car so they could return home. There was a detour to grab some pizza since Andrew didn't think he wanted to trust Abram's cooking skills that night, and as soon as they changed out of their suits and got into the kitchen, his friend was opening a bottle of wine. So, not a good day, but not a completely bad one, either. That or Abram was trying to keep some wits about him.

After they each had a couple of slices and Abram was on his second glass of wine, Andrew spoke up. "Why do you bother with the contacts and the hair dye?"

Abram sighed and dropped his half-eaten slice of pizza. "Of course we're going to do this now," he said as he picked up the wine glass and had a couple of swallows while Andrew chewed on his own pizza. "If you haven't figured it out already, my father killed my mother," Abram admitted before he continued to finish off the wine.

Andrew paused in eating to consider that for a moment. Well, that would make family reunions a bit awkward, yes? Also explained in part why none of the Hatfords had anything good to say about the mystery man. Raised yet even more questions, such as what had happened to Mary grabbing Abram - then Nathanial - and running. Guess she hadn't run far enough.

Still, all he said after a minute was, "okay." Then he waited to see what that had to do with his question.

It earned a rather dry laugh from Abram as he got up to fetch another bottle of wine. "Yes, 'okay' indeed." Abram looked at the corkscrew in his hand for a moment before he shuddered. "The thing is, I look a lot the man. So imagine staring at the face of the monster who killed your mother every single day in the mirror, and what it must be like for my uncles to look at that face as well." Finished uncorking the wine, Abram saluted Andrew with the corkscrew before he dropped it onto the counter with a loud 'clatter'.

So Andrew took that to mean that Abram's father was a man with auburn hair and blue eyes. Little by little he was learning more about the man... and very little of it was pleasant. "I like the blue eyes better," he admitted as he picked up another slice of pizza.

"You - this is insane," Abram muttered before he drained about half of the glass in his hand. "Your opinion is noted," he said in a biting tone as he set the glass down on the table.

"Hiding things don't make them go away," Andrew figured he'd point out. "Just uses up a lot of senseless energy."

"And how many years of therapy did it take for you to figure out that pearl of wisdom?" Abram snapped at him.

"Three years in juvie, a couple months after I was charged for assault and battery and five years while at Palmetto State," Andrew answered as he reached for the bottle of wine to refill his own glass, which made Abram give him an odd look. "What, was that not your question?"

"No, that's not it," Abram said with a weary sigh as he rubbed at his forehead, his hair falling loose around his face. "It's just... we're really messed up, aren't we?"

"Some of us more than others," Andrew argued, which just made Abram shake his head. "Why did you let that kid hit you today?"

Abram stared into his glass for a few seconds, appearing done with eating for the time being. "Because he was defending his parents, his home, even if it was his fault we were there. Because I wasn't sure that if I moved that I wouldn't pull a knife on him since...." He let out a slow breath. "Because for so very long, that's what I've done. It's what I've needed to do. I can't imagine a world anymore where you can just take a swing at someone and move on."

Andrew thought about that for a moment. "Did you ever live in a world like that?"

"Not really," Abram told him with a bitter smile. "The only difference was living in one where I took the blows because I had no choice, and one where I could start protecting myself." He once more stared into his glass. "Never in one where there was no need. How about you?"

There had been those long, awful years in the foster homes, and then moving in with Tilda and Aaron. "Basically the same," Andrew admitted, giving up his answer.

"Like I said, messed up," Abram remarked as he propped up his chin on his left hand while idly twirling the wine glass about with his right.

"You don't seem to be doing too bad for someone so messed up." Andrew had another bite of pizza while the idiot puzzled that one out. "Big fancy house, nice clothes, crazy family - okay, I'll give you that one."

That got him a smile that made him think he was coming down with heartburn or something, for some odd reason. "Crazy family and annoying roommate."

"No, that goes on the plus side," Andrew argued. "You're the one trying to do me in with the morning marathons in insane weather and daily bouts of food poisoning, and I'm the one putting out literal fires."

"I haven't burned anything in the last... three days," Abram scoffed.

"That's your winning argument? Pathetic," Andrew sneered before he finished off the pizza.

"I think someone needs to get shot again," Abram said in a much too sweet tone. "When do you next go the practice range? Maybe I can bribe Bren with something."

Mouth full at the moment, Andrew gave the bastard the finger and had just swallowed when his phone rang; seeing it was Nicky, he left his dirty plate and napkins on the island but refilled his glass while he answered the phone. "What do you want?"

"So things are going well there, right? That was almost polite for you," Nicky said, his tone way too chipper for Andrew's liking.

"I can hang up," Andrew threatened as he set the glass down on the mantel over the fireplace.

"No, don't do that!" Now Nicky sounded panicked, which was much better.

"Again, what do you want?" Andrew asked as he walked into the living area, the sound of Abram muttering about lazy bastard's making his lips twitch a little. "If it's about when we're going to come again, I keep telling you, I don't know."

"No, it's not that, though yeah, I hope you and Abram stop by soon." Andrew didn't like the way Nicky's voice lightened when he mentioned Andrew's roommate. "I just wanted you to know that Erik and I are coming to visit you!"

Andrew was silent as he held the phone pinned between his shoulder and his ear so he could fetch his cigarettes from his pocket while he contemplated some of the better spots around the city to dispose of bodies.

"Uhm... hello?"

"I heard you, now tell me why the hall you're coming here?" Andrew wanted to know as he slipped a stick between his lips then lit it as he stepped out through the french doors.

"Ah... well, Renee texted me to let me know that she's going to be there, and it's been years since I've seen her," Nicky said in a rush; out of all the upperclassmen, he'd been the closet to her as well, though he'd had some weird thing going on with Reynolds once her homophobic asshole boyfriend had graduated that was almost like a love/hate platonic relationship.

"That's nice, I hear that Africa's lovely this time of year. Go visit her for the New Year or something," Andrew said as he blew out a plume of smoke; it was cold outside, so he huddled by the doors for warmth.

"Andrew!" Nicky pleaded. "I want all of us to be together! I'll be like a mini-reunion, and... well, you've got that huge house now, right? Can't we at least meet up there or something?"

"It's Abram's, not mine."

"So, he's a nice guy even if he's with you. Can't imagine he'll turn us down," Nicky said with a sniff.

Andrew gritted his teeth together. "We're roommates, not - there's nothing going on between us."

"Uh-huh. If you say so." Nicky was all but laughing then, which did nothing for Andrew's temper.

"I'm going to-"

"Ah! So, Erik and I'll be in on the 21st, which is just a few days away, right? We'll book a room, but if Abram feels in a generous mood, we won't say 'no', right?" Then Nicky started prattling about how things were going at work, about how Erik was up for a promotion and the new guy who had moved into the apartment a couple of doors down from them had muscles to spare, Nicky was _not_ lying, and was Andrew watching to see how well Matt's team was doing this season? The Portland Peregrines had a good shot at the play-offs, might even face off against the New York-

"Goodbye," Andrew said, right before he cut off his cousin. He didn't want to hear anything more about Exy, and he especially didn't want to hear about Riko and Kevin's team.

Done freezing for the moment, he had one more drag of his cigarette before he flung it out onto the dormant garden then went back inside, swinging by to pick up his wine glass, and found Abram brewing a pot of tea. That gave him some pause since he hadn't thought it that bad of a day, and then noticed that there were two mugs out. "I'm not British," he said in a flat tone.

His friend shrugged. "It's good for dealing with family. Put some of your precious whiskey in it, if you like."

"In tea." Somehow, that had never occurred to Andrew.

"Bailey's works rather well," Abram volunteered. When Andrew continued to stare at him, he shrugged again. "You have your version of therapy, and I have mine."

"Which is a mixture of running, suppression, alcoholic tea and stabbing people." Had Andrew dreamed this person up or what? Well, the running thing was annoying.

"It's worked so far," Abram huffed, and then seemed to realize that Andrew wasn't mocking him. "Uhm, so Baileys, yes?" he offered with a shy smile.

"I didn't know we had any." But then again, Andrew only bothered with his 'precious whiskey', which was always in abundant supply.

Abram checked the tea then poured it before he went over to the pantry, and came back out after a minute with a bottle of the stuff, which he poured a hefty shot or two into both of their mugs. That done, they both ended up sitting in the living ‘room’, where Andrew started a fire before he sunk down in the obscenely comfortable chair he'd taken as 'his', while Abram folded those long legs of his beneath him on the loveseat.

"Nicky?" Abram asked in that polite tone of his which made it clear he wasn't pushing for an answer.

"Yeah, Nicky." Andrew blew on the tea and took a cautious sip, and had to admit that yes, it was good. At least, it was good for tea. "Renee told him she was coming and now he's dragging Erik along as well for a mini-Foxes reunion." At Abram's sly look, he shook his head. "I know, do them both in at the same time."

"Less questions if they both disappear," Abram agreed, a hint of a smile on his lips.

"Then you'll love this part - they want to stay here." He felt a bit smug when Abram appeared surprised by that. "Nicky's not being pushy for once, but he'll be an annoying, pouting shit if he doesn't get his way."

Abram seemed to think about that for a minute. "Huh. I guess... people just don't... they don't drop by on me. Not like that." He waved his left hand about a bit, the sleeve of his sweatshirt sliding back enough to reveal his arm guard.

"I didn't tell him that he could," Andrew said. "Can't imagine that it'll be safe for him and Erik to be seen with us like that." Not with people targeting Abram.

That got him an odd look, which made him lower the mug into his lap. "What?"

Abram shook his head and had some more tea before he answered. "Uncle Stuart hasn't said anything, has he?"

Not exactly what Andrew wanted to hear. "About what?" When Abram took another sip of his tea, Andrew narrowed his eyes at the idiot. "About what?"

"About your cousin," Abram sighed. "And assigning people to him." When Andrew stared at him for that, Abram took to playing with a strand of his dark, wavy hair. "He had Micha place someone near your cousin's flat after our last time in Stuttgart, rather than risk Nicky and Erik being used against you and me. Has them tailed, too. It's standard practice for the immediate family to have... friends... watched over like that." He seemed a bit guilty about it. "Sorry."

Andrew thought back to Nicky telling him about the 'beefcake' neighbor. "So my cousin is currently drooling over an enforcer who's keeping Moriyama men from using him against us?" It sucked to be on that detail.

Abram's guilty expression smoothed out when it seemed that Andrew wasn't upset with him. "Ah, Micha is saying that being assigned to tail your cousin is... well, he thinks it's good training for our people. Requires a lot of effort, putting up with Nicky." Abram winced a little. "You know how he is."

Better than Abram, which was why Andrew was a bit surprised that Stuart and Micha were encouraging the equivalent of mental torture. "I thought the Hatfords were supposed to better than the Moriyamas," he murmured as he raised his mug for some more doctored tea. When Abram glared at him, he cocked his head. "Seems a bit cruel to put those people through Nicky."

That made Abram laugh, for once a rare, true sound. "Well, I suppose it’s best we know if they'll break under your cousin than, well, you know." His smile faltered a little.

"True. So that said, you willing to inflict that pain on yourself?" Andrew owed Nicky for letting him stay at the apartment, and would rather have that paid off sooner than later.

Once again, Abram appeared to consider it. "He's already known to associate with us, it'll probably be safer for him to stay here than somewhere else and have people assigned to him." He gave a slight shrug. "Stick him and Erik on the top floor. If they prove too bothersome, there’s always the garden.”

Andrew hoped he was kidding, just because it would be a bitch to dig up semi-frozen dirt. “I’ll give him a day or two to sweat it out before I let him know. Have Bren stock up on the alcohol until then.” They were going to need it.

After that, Andrew watched some television while Abram got in a little more work – time zones were a bitch – both of them finishing off the pot of tea before bed. The next day started with the usual early morning workout, and Abram’s attempt at breakfast (some sort of egg and sausage scramble which wasn’t too bad) was interrupted by Jamie calling and asking for them to stop by ‘the office’. Which turned out to be a converted warehouse in Harringay, up in North London.

While Abram looked over some documents with his cousin, Liz took Andrew below to a firing range where he got to practice with the Glock 26 he’d been given after the incident in the garage. It was a small but accurate 9mm gun which was easily concealed, and so far he was proving to be a decent shot. Bren was a good teacher, but Andrew much preferred Liz who was less inclined to joke around and could be hands on when necessary to correct his stance or hold but did so with a light touch and only was in contact with him for as long as necessary. Taking into account what he knew about her relationship with Liliya, that respect for boundaries made sense.

The woman also knew her weapons, considering her incredible aim with any gun Andrew saw her use on the private range. Once again he was reminded a bit about Renee with the bright smile and the calm personality that cloaked an inner darkness, but at least Liz didn’t preach any Christian bullshit. While it was clear that she supported Jamie a hundred percent, but Andrew didn’t get any mindless drone vibes from her. Whatever her reasons for her devotion to Jamie and the Hatfords in general, she seemed earnest about them and realistic about what she was doing, which was different from his experience with the Moriyamas.

“Not bad for someone who can barely see over the railing,” Liz teased when Andrew got his last three shots within the inner ring of the target; she had almost a foot on him and looked as if she spent quite some time working out with those toned shoulders and arms.

“Want me to shoot you in the kneecaps so we make this a bit more of an even contest?” Andrew asked while he removed the empty clip from the gun, done practicing for the day.

Liz laughed at that and shook her head as she closed the vents that aired out range. “Just keep aiming for their heads – that’ll give you a good chest shot.”

“Shall I start with you?” Andrew asked, which made Liz’s grin falter.

After a second, she cleared her throat and began to pick up his safety gear. “You know, it’s a good thing you’re doing this, practicing and carrying. Abram’s a decent shot but he rarely carries a gun.”

Andrew thought about that as he reloaded his Glock. “Any reason why?”

She shook her head. “Just seems to do better with his knives. When you think about how fast he is, it’s not much of a problem, but he won’t carry a gun unless he knows he’s walking into a fight.”

There was that suicidal streak of the idiot’s, Andrew thought as he holstered his own gun. “Good to know.” Done for the day, they went back upstairs to see if their respective ‘charges’ were finished untangling the mess of transferred funds that Jamie had found.

It seemed the two were getting close to solving the problem, so Liz volunteered to run out for some caffeine and sugar to refuel everyone. While she was gone, Andrew looked around the place a bit, checked out closets (lots of body armor in one, ammo in another, and he didn’t want to know why there was what looked to be a bunch of inflatable beach balls in the third), various drawers and so forth. He’d begun to dig through what looked to be a box of smoke bombs when his phone began to ring.

It wasn’t local, meaning a UK number, nor did it look like one from Germany, either. In fact, it looked like a US number; he wondered if Renee had reached out to another Fox or something. Part of him wanted to ignore it, but he figured he could always hang up on them after he found out who it was so he answered it.

“What?”

“Andrew?”

Andrew stood up from the desk he was leaning on as anger coursed through his body once he recognized the voice. “What the hell do you want, Day?”

“It’s… I… I wasn’t sure it was true.”

“Day, you have thirty seconds to tell me why the fuck you’re bothering me,” Andrew ground out, his left hand clenched into a fist. “I told you to fuck off how many years ago?”

“Please just-“

“Don’t say that word!”

“I’m sorry!” Kevin sounded almost frantic, sounded like the coward he’d always been. “Look, give me a minute, all right! Just listen to me for once.”

“Who gave you my number?” Andrew demanded to know, even though he was certain he already knew. “Was it the prick? Did Riko give it to you?”

“You need to know something,” Kevin continued as if Andrew had spoken, as always refusing to listen to him. “If it’s true, if you’re in London… you need to leave. It’s not safe there.”

Andrew almost laughed at that. “According to whom? To Riko? What is he going to do, come here and break _my_ hand? Oh how the not so mighty have fallen. How long did it take you to get back in the habit of groveling at his feet, hmm?”

“Dammit, he told me you’re working for the Hatfords,” Kevin snapped, fear given way to anger now that it was clear that Andrew wasn’t going to listen to the great Kevin Day. “Do you know who they are? Do you have any idea what you’ve done?”

“I think I know better than you do,” Andrew said, his tone now cold; he was tired of this shit, the same old shit when it came to Kevin. Really, some things never did change. “So leave me the fuck alone and never call again.”

“You need to walk away,” Kevin insisted, some of the anger dying down to be replaced by that annoying tone of superiority, of Kevin knowing what was best. “Walk away from Nathaniel before it’s too late, Andrew. You don’t know what’s going on there, about him and his father and the Moriyamas.” He paused for a moment as he let out a sharp breath. “This isn’t a fight you can win, not against the Butcher and the main house!”

The Butcher. Why did that sound familiar to Andrew? He frowned as he stared across the warehouse, to where Jamie and Abram were huddled together in an office, then shook his head. “As always, you don’t know shit, Kevin. You’re still Riko’s faithful little puppet, repeating whatever he tells you. Now you can tell him something for me – that a pathetic piece of shit like him is never going to scare me or win against me. So tell him that, and never bother me again.” Then he hung up on the coward and blocked the number.

Almost four years ago, Kevin Day chose to join the same team as Riko despite everything Andrew had done to instill some sense of a spine in the coward, to keep him away from Evermore and make him his own individual. All because Andrew wouldn’t devote the rest of his life to a game that didn’t inspire him, didn’t make it worth his while to get out of bed every morning, to put up with the training and everything else that went along with it. Because he didn’t agree to baby Kevin for the rest of the coward’s life.

And now Kevin was calling him out of concern? Andrew didn’t believe it. Concern for Kevin, yes. That Riko had put him up to it, that Riko would be upset if he didn’t do it. But at the end of it all, Kevin Day was only concerned about himself.

So Andrew waited until Liz came back and grabbed the double chocolate mocha cappuccino she’d picked up for him then motioned that he was going outside for a few minutes, and had a few sips while he got comfortable on the outside steps before he called Stuart. When the man didn’t answer, Andrew left him a message. “Tell me about the Butcher.”

He finished his drink and was halfway through a cigarette when Stuart called him back. “Where did you hear that name?” Stuart asked, his voice much too quiet.

“Funny thing is, it’s familiar. I know I’ve heard it before Kevin Day called me in a panic and told me that I need to leave London and Nathaniel before the Butcher and the Moriyamas come for me,” Andrew remarked.

Stuart let out a rather impressive string of curses. “Did you tell Abram about the call?”

Andrew let out a derisive scoff at that.

“Good, let’s keep it that way,” Stuart muttered. “Don’t need him losing it again, not after Cal.”

“Not after those Russians called him Nathaniel, too,” Andrew was kind enough to point out.

There was silence and then a heavy sigh over the line. “Couldn’t have taken a shot to the head, could you, you damn midget?”

“And deprive you of my joyful presence? Sorry. I figured out that Abram used to be Nathaniel, he’s all but confirmed that for me, but where does the Butcher come into play?” Andrew demanded to know. He had to have heard it in passing, in the background somewhere, for it not to register now.

Stuart gave another long sigh. “The Butcher’s his shitty father, that’s who he is.” Andrew nearly dropped his phone at that. “The bloody Butcher of Baltimore, Nathan Wesninski.”

“The fuck,” Andrew breathed out – _now_ he remembered hearing the name, back at Palmetto State. Someone in his class had talked about doing a paper on the supposed gangster/hit man in Baltimore, but another classmate had argued that there wasn’t enough proof to validate the other kid’s theory. Andrew hadn’t paid too much attention to the conversation since he just focused on getting his own coursework turned in and didn’t socialize with anyone else. “You can’t be serious.”

“Oh, can’t I?” Stuart laughed at that, the sound harsh and clipped. “The fucking prick is Ichiro Moriyama’s right hand man – used to be Kengo’s before that bastard died. Now what the fuck did Kevin Day say to you?”

Andrew shook out another cigarette while he thought about Abram being related to an infamous serial killer. “He told me that it wasn’t safe here, that I needed to leave, to get away from Nathaniel. That I didn’t know who you were or what I’d done, I’m assuming by agreeing to work for you. He mentioned Abram’s father and the Moriyamas and that I couldn’t win against them. So I pretty much told him to tell Riko to fuck off and hung up on him.” Conversation summed up, he lit the cigarette and breathed in deeply.

Stuart mumbled something beneath his breath for a moment. “I thought Abram was the fucking hothead of the two of you, yeah? Maybe next time, let the fool prattle on a bit, yeah?”

Andrew glared at nothing as he blew out more smoke. “It’s always the same with that coward – don’t go up against the Moriyamas, they’re going to win. Don’t fight the Moriyamas, they’re going to win. What are we going to do? It’s the great Moriyamas, blah blah blah. I hung up before I threw up.”

“Well, would be nice to know what threats they’re prepared to use at this point, or if they’re going for bribery,” Stuart said, which didn’t do much for Andrew’s temper.

“You think they can _buy_ me?” he spat out.

“No, but we don’t have anyone watching your brother,” Stuart pointed out. “Abram said you found out about the people tailing Klose and his husband, but there’s not too much we can do in the US.”

Some of Andrew’s anger sputtered out as he thought about Aaron; he dropped the cigarette to the concrete steps and stared at his left forearm, at the scars hidden by his sweater and his arm guard. For so long, he’d sacrificed so much for his twin, had given up a home, had carved out pieces of himself and – and had everything thrown in his face those last few months. Had been told one big ‘fuck you’ the day before graduation, told in no uncertain terms that their deal was done and gone and that there would never be another one, that he was unwelcome in Aaron’s life from that day forward.

“It’s fine,” he choked out. “Day knows there’s nothing there anymore, between me and Aaron. That there’s no use in trying to use my brother against me.”

The line was quiet again. “Andrew,” Stuart said, for once using his name. “We can try to-“

“Aaron knows he’s on his own,” Andrew repeated. “I’m not going to betray Abram for him.” He wasn’t going to break a promise for someone who had stomped all over their word to him.

“All right,” Stuart said. “I still say we can try something. We’ll up the protection around Klose, just to be certain.”

“Nicky will love it,” Andrew said as he closed his eyes. “Long as it’s more men.”

“No requests,” Stuart grunted. “Now get your ass back to work, you damn midget goth.”

“I’m just letting the sound of your voice lull me into an appropriately depressing state,” Andrew told the man. “Not quite abject enough yet.”

“Let me help – fuck off, you shitty little prick. Should have shot you in the brain myself, back in Stuttgart.”

Andrew hummed a little. “Hmm, not quite, but the thought of listening to you for much longer turns my stomach enough to make me feel miserable so that’ll do.”

He hung up on Stuart’s rather loud retort and got up to go back inside, taking his empty cup with him, and headed over to the office to see what Abram was doing. His friend looked up from the computer monitor and smiled.

“There you are. We’re almost done, just a little longer.”

“Yes, a little longer, and then Timmons is going to explain to me how he fucked up these transfers so badly,” Jamie muttered, her expression rather murderous at the moment.

Abram shook his head as he took a step back from the desk and motioned at a box of what looked to be pastries. “Liz brought back some biscuits, do you want some?”

Feeling hungry since he hadn’t eaten since breakfast, Andrew opened the box and sighed. “Just say ‘cookie’, dammit.” He glared at Abram as he picked up a jam-filled cookie sandwich.

“Not that again,” Abram sighed as he shook his head, once more back at Jamie’s side. “Those are biscuits. Empire biscuits.”

“They’re cookies,” Andrew insisted between bites.

“He does know that he’s bitching about things in the country where the damn language was invented?” Jamie asked Abram as if Andrew wasn’t there.

“You’re talking about a man who yelled at me for ten minutes over asking to put something in the boot of the car,” Abram muttered. “Check the transaction on the 12th.”

“Because it’s not called that,” Andrew insisted as he grabbed another _cookie_.

“You do know how to pick them, little cousin,” Jamie said as she shook her head.

“Pick what?” Abram stared at her in confusion.

Andrew finished off the _cookies_ while a puzzled Abram helped Jamie seal Timmons’ (whoever he was, clearly a very unlucky fellow but not someone Andrew had to deal with that day) fate. Then he dusted off his hands and pulled out his phone to text Renee a message – ‘Moriyama shit going on, sure you want to come?’

Once he was in the car with Abram and heading back home, he waited to bring up the topic – albeit somewhat edited. “I know Nicky and Erik have people watching them, but will Renee be all right, what with those Russian assholes hanging around?” For himself, Andrew’s money was on Renee even if she was busy playing the good Christian Girl and all, but there were Russian mobsters and then there were the Moriyamas.

Abram tugged on a lock of hair as he gave the matter some thought. “Probably best not to have her at the new place, but it should be fine if you meet her in public. She’s staying with Reynolds, correct?” When Andrew nodded, Abram let go of his hair, and Andrew found himself momentarily distracted by the way it curled around the man’s high cheekbone. _Focus_ , he told himself, and on something other than his hormones. “The Reynolds’ family should have some decent security, considering their wealth and businesses and how little trouble they have, so I highly doubt anything will happen while your friend is visiting. And it’s not a good idea to get involved with people who work for such high profile organizations like Walker does – people become upset when someone like her goes missing or dies because it’s such ‘good’ news.” His lips twisted a bit as he spoke, his right hand cupping his left wrist for a moment.

“Yes, god forbid bad things happen to an attractive young woman from a first world country doing charity work,” Andrew agreed, voice thick with sarcasm. “Stop the presses.”

“Exactly. There’s better targets for them to hit, in the end.” Abram gave a slight shrug as if aiming for nonchalance, but Andrew could tell the topic bothered him. That his friend didn’t like to think of other people being targeted because of him.

“Well, we can hope they go after Stuart,” Andrew said in an effort to lighten the mood. “Or Ally. Maybe you need to start pretending that you like the fuck-up a bit better, yeah? Get the word out that he’s your dear, beloved cousin and hope that they snatch him up or something?”

Abram twisted about in the passenger seat of the McLaren to stare at Andrew for several seconds, his expression incredulous, and then he rubbed at his face. “I don’t… it’s brilliant. Bloody brilliant. Except for the part where I’d have to pretend to like the bastard, which would be sheer hell. But something to consider.”

“I have my uses,” Andrew pointed out with some satisfaction.

“Some,” Abram agreed.

“More than you, especially lately. All you do is stand around and talk.” Andrew gave a slight sneer as he pulled around some idiot barely going the speed limit. “How useful.”

“Oh, of course, what else would a translator do, juggle lemons?” Abram twisted back to face forward. “I take back the brilliant comment.”

“Too late,” Andrew told him. “So, Indian for dinner?”

Abram sighed. “Curry, and yes.”

“Indian, as in food from India, and don’t try to win this argument, I will crush you.” Someone needed to learn their limits and recognize who was superior.

“Just… shut up and drive,” Abram grumbled as he slumped down in the seat, his arms folded over his chest and his expression bordering on a pout.

Andrew allowed him the last word for the moment, since it meant that Abram was distracted from any stupid thoughts; he wasn’t thinking about Cal or the Moriyamas or his father.

Nathan Wesninski. Andrew was still trying to take in that recent revelation, that Abram’s father was some kind of bogeyman. Maybe there were some very good reasons why the Brit had so many issues (though was he really a Brit? Stuart and Abram said that Mary had taken Abram and run. Had they run from the States?). Having a father who was a feared hitman and who supposedly ran a good chunk of the East Coast crime syndicate might explain how he could be so callous about some things, and why some people thought he might be a better candidate to take over instead of Jamie.

How the hell had Mary Hatford gotten involved with such a monster?

There were yet even more questions Andrew wanted answered, but for right now, he would settle for grabbing some take-out and cajoling a certain idiot into watching another subbed movie with him.

*******

Abram had to admit that he had initially been drawn to Nicky Klose because of the man's connection to Kevin Day, and then because of the refreshing normality the man had brought into his life - refreshing and odd and somewhat overwhelming. Then there had been Andrew, and Abram couldn't seem to rid himself of the gregarious man, and... and he didn't think it was a bad thing. Maybe. Sometimes he was a bit divided on the matter.

Such as now, when Nicky and his husband, Erik, stood in the main floor of the new place (Abram had to stop thinking of it like that, they'd been there for a couple of weeks already) and, well, _gaped_. "This is all yours?"

"Ah, my family helped with it, obviously," Abram explained as he shrugged. "It's a bit much, really, but they insisted."

"Can they adopt me?" Nicky asked. "Honestly. I've had all my shots and I do the dishes."

"Most of the time," Erik murmured.

"Hush," Nicky told him, "I'm doing this for both of us." Then he smiled at Abram. "Well?"

"I'll take it under consideration, but I think we're full up at the moment," Abram said. "Sorry."

"He'd be better than Ally," Andrew said in Mandarin, his accent just a little off.

"Wow, wait, you're picking up another language?" Nicky asked, once more back to gaping. "When did that happen?"

Andrew just shrugged and kicked at his cousin's luggage. "Come on, let's get this shit out of here," he ordered. "Do you want to see where you're sleeping or what?"

"Why do you never answer my questions?" Nicky asked with an offended sniff. "He never talks to me," Nicky complained to Erik, who was rubbing him on the back.

"I know," Erik soothed, while Abram was back to swinging toward this being a mistake - a very noisy mistake, having the two stay here. Ah well, he could always lock himself in his room and leave the two to Andrew. That way he could honestly say he didn't know what happened to the couple when they went missing.

"Sometimes it's like I think he – oh, I just can't get over there being a lift!" Nicky exclaimed, and once again, he was excited and happy. Abram gave them a little wave goodbye while he watched a very displeased Andrew take his family up to the top floor, then went to pour himself a very full glass of wine. He was about halfway through it when his friend returned and went straight for the whisky.

"If I ever agree to let Nicky visit again, shoot me."

Abram smiled at that as he sat on one of the padded stools around the marble island. "Doable. So I assume the bodies haven't been stuffed in the laundry chute just yet?"

"It was close." Andrew drank most of what he'd just poured himself. "Maybe I should just save myself the aggravation and let the Moriyamas have them."

For all his friend's gruff exterior, Abram knew Andrew wouldn't allow that to happen; yes, Nicky could be annoying and yes, Andrew on the whole seemed content to live his life separate from his cousin. But it was evident from the way that Andrew did check in with Micha now that he knew the man was responsible for watching over Nicky and Erik that Andrew was concerned for his cousin's safety, and how Andrew bothered to respond to Nicky's calls and texts (perhaps not the most promptly or with much to say, but he did respond). From what Nicky had told Abram, Andrew had withdrawn from almost everyone over the years, and now he was reversing that somewhat. Abram wouldn't exactly call it being that much more sociable, but it obviously made Nicky very happy.

Despite Andrew's complaints, Abram thought it made Andrew a bit happy, too. His friend's face would smooth out when he read and answered those texts: not just some mask-like blankness, not with a hint of displeasure or boredom, but with something similar to contemplation.

So all Abram did was prop up his chin and smile. "I thought you said us Hatfords weren't as cruel as the Moriyamas."

Now there was that displeased look. "I didn't realize I was a Hatford," Andrew said as he refilled his glass.

"Hmm, but you work for us, so...."

"Maybe I should let them have _you_ ," Andrew taunted.

"Ooh, now you're just getting vicious. Keep that up and Santa won't bring you anything." Abram smiled a little more before he had another sip of wine.

"You're right, that is a bit much," Andrew agreed as he leaned against the counter, his glass of whisky held in his hands. "Though why I'm stuck with you, who the hell knows."

Because he hadn't run when he should have, and then he'd gone and offered Abram a deal, but they wouldn't get into it just then. "Hmm, what's that quote about heaven and earth?"

Andrew gave him a look as if he was insane, which Abram should be used to by now - he got it a lot, and not just from his roommate. "It's Shakespeare, shouldn't you know it by heart? Isn't it mandatory here? Is someone going to come arrest you now?"

"There's those lovely stereotypes coming out to play," Abram said to no one in particular. "Can I look forward to waking up tomorrow to find the place garishly decorated with yours and Nicky's need to equate wattage to holiday cheer and so forth, along with the sight of some truly hideous festive sweaters?"

That provoked an amusing grimace from Andrew. "Hell no, and I will stab Nicky if he brought anything like that with him."

"What a shame, it could have been fun to get a picture out on the family newsletter," Abram joked. Fortunately for him, it was around then that Nicky and Erik returned, before Andrew had a chance to say something that looked to be rather contemptuous.

"Oh my god, we're just going to move here, all right? That bed! And the bathroom! There's a _jacuzzi_ tub in there! I'm in love! I'm in love with a bath tub, but it's okay because Erik loves it too, so we're going to share. It's a threesome with a bath tub and we're all fine with it," Nicky gushed, a huge grin on his face.

Andrew gave his cousin a look of pure disgust. "First, no way in hell, and second, I do not know you. Get out."

Nicky brushed that aside and smiled at Abram. "He loves me, he really does."

"No he doesn't," Andrew insisted.

"How about some wine before we go out?" Abram offered, hoping that if Nicky was drinking, he couldn't talk. It wasn't the most foolproof of plans, but the tile in the kitchen was unglazed so it would be a bitch to get the blood out of it; something to point out to Uncle Stuart later.

It was going to be a very long four days.

Still, Nicky calmed down a little at dinner, regaling Abram with stories about the cousins’ days at Palmetto State. One dark look from Andrew had him steering away from anything involving his cousin too much, but he talked about some of their more noteworthy games and the antics during the long bus rides to and from those games. Abram found out that Kevin Day was notorious for oversleeping and being difficult to wake up - and that Andrew didn't like it when his cousin talked about the famous striker. Considering the little Abram knew about the man - his connections to the Moriyamas and that Andrew had a deal with him that hadn't turned out well - he thought he knew why.

The first night ended mostly well, with Nicky and Erik going up to their room while Abram and Andrew retreated to theirs for some much needed privacy; Abram wrapped up some work, including a couple of translations that Zhou had sent to him. The next day started with Erik cooking them all some breakfast once Abram and Andrew were finished with their workouts; Abram sat drinking some tea while he sort of watched the German in-between checking his emails. Andrew and Nicky were off somewhere, but showed up in time to enjoy Erik's rather good omelets. For some reason Nicky seemed pleased while Andrew had that mask back on his face, but after a few bites his expression returned to normal.

Then Nicky and Erik went off to sightseeing, for which Abram was grateful because he was realizing that he really wasn't up to dealing with someone like Nicky for more than short intervals at a time; he could force himself to deal with people when it was 'business' and it wasn't bad when they were tied to the family. Mostly because they came and went with little fuss. But dealing with Nicky's almost full attention without many others around could be a bit much. Hopefully it would be better when Walker arrived and Nicky would want to catch up with his old teammate.

So Abram focused on work while Andrew got called out to help Stuart out with something (which seemed a little odd, but it spared Abram from having to listen to the two snipe at each other). After a couple of hours he took a break to grab a cup of coffee and a snack to hold him over until they all went out to dinner. While waiting for a new pot to brew, he noticed that Nicky had left some brochures out on where he and Erik must be planning on visiting while in London; Nicky had talked about how the two hadn't really spent any time in the city before, spending their vacations either on the continent with Erik's extended family or in the States.

Was it odd that Abram had lived in London for almost ten years and he hadn't been to the Tower at all? That he hadn't been to a few of the places that Nicky planned to visit? Granted, they were considered tourist traps, but Abram... he saw sides of the city that a good many didn't, the highs and the lows, but not so much of the every day, he supposed. Even when he'd first arrived after his mother's death, he'd barely left the school where Uncle Stuart had stashed him, shell-shocked by everything, by her loss and the revelations, by trying to deal with no longer running, by such a drastic change in circumstances. And not even two months later-

What was it like to wake up with someone who loved you and just go somewhere, anywhere you wanted, and wander around without any purpose other than to have a nice time? To see something new, to laugh and make memories that wouldn't haunt you at night? That wouldn't haunt someone else? Abram couldn't imagine such a thing.

He forced himself to put the pamphlets down and had an apple while the coffee finished brewing, then went back to his room to work. After a couple of calls to Zhou and Sabine, he got most of the translations done for the day, and was startled out of reviewing something for Uncle Will when there was a rapid knocking sound. He looked up from his laptop in time to see Andrew open his door, which earned the American a glare. "What?"

"We'll be leaving soon," Andrew reminded him as he leaned against the doorframe, dressed in black jeans that clung to his legs and a tight jumper that showed off how much time he spent lifting weights. Abram found himself wondering if Andrew had bulked up a little or if it was just his imagination, when he realized that not only had he not responded, but he was also staring.

"Ah, I should, uhm, get ready, yes?"

Andrew gave him a withering look. "I don't think the dress code allows sweatpants and t-shirts, so yes."

"Get out of my room, you prat," Abram sighed as he set his laptop aside.

"I'm not in it," Andrew pointed out with evident satisfaction before he pushed away and closed the door behind him.

Left alone, Abram freshened up in the bathroom, double-checked his roots (not that there was any time to do something about them, but it was second-nature to check) and then picked out a pair of jeans and a knit top that shouldn't be too hot if the place got crowded but still covered him up enough. He debated pulling his hair back but decided there wasn't enough time; one day he'd get it cut, but never could seem bothered to find someone to do a proper job of it. Plus, he hated people who asked questions about the color and everything.

He left the room to find everyone waiting for him; Nicky gave him a wide grin for some reason while Andrew just shoved Abram's coat in his face before they went down to the garage and got into the Jaguar sedan Davis had dropped off for them to borrow while Nicky and Erik were in town. It took some time to get to the restaurant where they were meeting Renee Walker and Allison Reynolds for dinner, and during that time Abram finished a little more work on his phone.

"Are you going to be on that thing all night?" Andrew asked with evident displeasure.

"I do have some manners," he answered. "You'll see them soon enough."

"Oooh, maybe you'll rub off on Andrew, then," Nicky remarked from the back of the car. "One can dream, right?"

"One can also throw you out of the car," Andrew shot back in a rather bland tone.

"You're supposed to chill out with age, you know," Nicky said with an offended sniff, while Andrew just gave him the finger before lighting up a cigarette. Abram shook his head and breathed in the smoke to help center himself before they reached the restaurant.

Refusing to remain daunted for long, Nicky took to regaling them with his and Erik's adventures during the day, with Erik chiming in every now and then. Abram ended up amused despite himself, in part because of Nicky's enthusiasm as well as the fact that somehow the insane person hadn't been carted off for some of his antics. By the time they reached Blanchette East he was smiling a little, in spite of the fact that he would have to put up with Reynolds for the next couple of hours.

They arrived before the two women did, and were seated at their table with an order of drinks when Andrew's teammates showed up. Reynolds was once again all dressed up, this time wearing a gold cocktail dress that showed off her long legs and a good bit of her toned back, her blonde hair pulled up in a messy bun, and Renee Walker in a much more demure outfit of simple yet still nice dress that covered her upper body and most of her legs, her chin-length hair dyed a deep purple.

Nicky rushed to his feet to give her a hug. "Renee! It's been so long! I love the hair!"

"Nicky, it's so good to see you. And thank you, I just got it done today." She hugged him back with a pleased grin on her face. "Allison took me to her stylist."

Reynolds made a loud tsking sound. "Her roots were horrid, I tell you. Horrid." She exchanged a much less exuberant hug with Nicky. "You look good, though."

"Hmm, married life agrees with me," Nicky said. "And you look the same, marvelous. I hear the latest collection is doing really well."

“Yes, and the upcoming one is going to do even better,” Reynolds assured him before looking over at Abram and then Andrew, who just bothered to nod at a smiling Walker. Abram stood up so he could at least give the woman a polite bow of the head.

“It’s nice to meet you,” he told her. “Abram Hatford.”

“Renee Walker, and yes, it’s a pleasure to meet you. Andrew’s told me a little about you,” she said as she sat down between Andrew and Reynolds.

“Which she hasn’t said a word about to me, which is no fair at all,” Reynolds complained as she set her chin on top of her folded hands and gave Abram what could only be considered a coy look. “What is it that you do, hmm?”

Abram gave her a polite smile. “I work as a translator for my family. It’s an old business, we dabble in a few things such as shipping and transportation. I’m sure someone from your background understands the need for diversification.”

“And the mon- ah, Andrew,” Reynolds corrected herself with a slight wince while Walker’s smile took on a slight edge, “is helping you out? What is he, some sort of personal assistant?”

“Allison, we just got here and you’re already interrogating the poor man,” Walker chided.

“It’s fine,” Abram assured her. “Let’s get this out of the way right now. Yes, Andrew has proven to be very helpful,” he told Reynolds. “And I think that’s enough on the topic for now,” he insisted with a touch of force, enough to make Reynolds blink.

“Here, here,” Nicky agreed as he waved at their server, a young gentleman who had been walking past their table. “Ah! Our other guests have arrived!”

The young man asked Reynolds and Walker what they wanted to drink, and Abram found it interesting that Walker didn’t imbibe any alcohol. There was something about the young woman, about the way she held herself and the way her dark eyes tracked around the room, that put him on edge, yet it was clear that Andrew trusted her. Abram had a feeling that there was a story there, that there had to be a reason why she was the only Fox Andrew felt worthy of dealing with… and he’d probably have to give up an answer one night in their ‘game’ to find out.

“So at least tell me that the McLaren is yours,” Reynolds said to Abram after the server left. “Surely you’re not paying Minyard enough for him to afford it as an assistant whatever.”

He enjoyed smiling at the woman as he shook his head. “No, sorry, I’m afraid it is indeed his. I’ve never even driven the thing.”

Andrew scoffed as he picked up his whisky. “Do you even know how to drive?”

“Since I was ten, I’ll have you know,” he told the bastard. “Want me to drive the next time we have some work?”

“There’s no way in hell I’m letting an idiot like you behind the wheel of my car,” Andrew swore. “You didn’t even know how to open the doors.”

Abram smiled, his teeth gritting together somewhat. “Because most people don’t need to inflate their egos by requiring the most ostentatious vehicle around, thank you.”

“I didn’t want it because it’s flashy, I wanted it because it’s fast,” Andrew argued as he swirled around the last few drops of his whisky. “I’ll get you a bike, is that low key enough for you?”

“Perfect, then I can throw it at you.”

Nicky leaned around Reynolds to beam at Walker. “See? _See_! Didn’t I tell you about it? They’re _perfect_!”

“Yes, it’s exactly like you said,” the quiet woman agreed with a huge grin.

Meanwhile, Andrew began to finger the knife in his place setting while Abram frowned at the two. “Is something wrong?”

“No, nothing!” Nicky insisted with too much cheer, while the server returned with the women’s drinks and Reynolds gave Abram and Andrew a thoughtful look before she pulled out her phone and tapped something on it.

The conversation lulled for a bit while everyone figured out what to eat, then appetizers and dinner were ordered. Walker spent some time talking about her work in the Peace Corps in South Africa, and it sounded as if she was both doing a lot of good work and loving what she did. Andrew didn’t talk much to her, but they would exchange the occasional look, and she would always smile when they did.

At that point they were finished with their appetizers and most of them had a couple of drinks in them, and on to the various small plates that were the main course. Reynolds and Nicky carried the brunt of the conversation after that, Reynolds going on with anecdotes about the fashion world and Nicky egging her on, at least until the conversation seemed to switch on to some of their missing ex-teammates.

“I saw Matt in San Francisco a few months ago when his team was playing a game,” Reynolds proclaimed, a glass of wine in her hand. “Had to call Dan up and bitch her out for letting her man go about in such bad shape, then haul him to the nearest store before anyone caught sight of him. He claimed some sob story about back to back practices and lost luggage, but really, no excuse.”

“Well, the Peregrines have been playing hard this year,” Nicky argued. “They’re doing their best to make it to the playoffs and have a chance of being the division champions.”

Reynolds scoffed. “Won’t do them much good if they’re facing off against the Barons.”

Abram felt some of his good mood fade at mention of Riko Moriyama’s team, and it looked as if Andrew wasn’t that pleased, either.

“Aw, but it’ll be interesting, to see Matt go up against Kevin, right?” Nicky grinned around the table, his expression faltering when he caught Andrew’s sour look. “Or maybe not.”

“I don’t think it would be such a good thing, to have two former friends face off against each other,” Erik commented.

“They weren’t friends,” Andrew said. “Kevin Day only cared about himself.”

“We can agree about that,” Reynolds remarked as she held up her wine glass a little.

“That’s not very nice,” Walker murmured, yet she didn’t exactly disagree.

“We are talking about Kevin Day,” Reynolds reminded her friend.

"Yeah, this was the guy who basically said in an interview two years ago that the Foxes failed to reach the finals during his years on the team because 'there was only so much one person could do to carry a team so far," Nicky said before gagging. "Funny, I don't remember him out on the court all by himself."

"Or the fact that the Foxes have managed to make it to the semi-finals ever since without his pompous ass," Reynolds pointed out.

"He did teach us some useful drills," Walker added to the argument; Abram was sensing that she usually played some sort of peacekeeper among the teammates. "And helped to draw in some good recruits."

Reynolds gave her an annoyed look. "Whatever, he was and always will be an asshole." Then she looked over at Andrew. "What, no kind words for your old bosom buddy? You two used to be thick as thieves, at least until you refused to go along with his grand plans for you. Almost made me proud of you - almost."

Andrew gave her that bland look of his. "He is what he always was, a coward, and that's all I have to say about the man. If all you're going to talk about is such stupid things, I've got better stuff to do."

"Like what?" Reynolds smile turned sharp as she glanced over at Abram. "Playing with your new boyfriend?"

"Oh shit," Nicky gasped while Walker gave her friend a strongly displeased look; for his part, Abram just turned a frosty yet polite smile on the woman while his left hand slipped beneath the table to press against Andrew's knee. "Behave," he warned in Mandarin.

That earned him a slight frown as Andrew turned to look at him, but his friend didn't shake off the touch, which Abram withdrew after a few seconds. "Why?"

"Because this was your idea," Abram answered in the same language, trying to keep his phrasing simple; Andrew was learning fast, but didn't know the more complex words or sentence structures yet.

"Not... entirely," Andrew said with a slight pause as he glanced at Reynolds, who was being chastised by Walker at the moment.

"Still, I am here because of you, so no fighting," Abram argued.

Andrew was quiet for about three seconds, and then turned back to face forward. "Family party," was all he said, reminding Abram that he could be going to one of the parties being thrown by his various relatives. So all he did was force the smile back on his lips as he once more repeated "no fighting".

Of course by that point, everyone was looking at them, Nicky, Erik and Walker with those grins on their faces, Reynolds with smug satisfaction. Abram just sighed and looked around for the bottle of wine they'd ordered while a dangerous glint came into Andrew's hazel eyes for some reason.

"So, enough about Exy, yes?" Erik said as he grabbed the bottle for Abram and poured the last of it into his glass. "It's the holidays, let's talk about something more cheerful?"

Once again, Nicky and Reynolds seemed to dominate the conversation, with Walker and Erik adding in their thoughts here and there, while the server came and took their dessert order. Abram rolled his eyes at the incredibly rich confection of dark chocolate that Andrew ordered and pushed his torte over to the glutton when it proved to be too sweet. That got him an appraising stare from Walker, but when he gazed back at the woman, she looked away and resumed talking about her plans to help build a new school in the upcoming year.

It was an odd night for Abram, one where he hadn't been expected to contribute much, where he mostly got to sit back and listen without any pressure, and if he had little clue what people were talking about most of the time, it was fine. Reynolds and Nicky appeared pleased just to have people paying them attention, not exactly being narcissistic but in that people were listening to them and taking what they said (mostly) seriously. Well, Reynolds had a thicker skin than Nicky, obviously, but she became less abrasive as the night wore on, as Walker leaned against her and the wine bottles increased. Walker remained pleasant the entire time - although there was still that 'odd' sense Abram picked up from her, that made him want to watch out for her.

Andrew talked only when he had to, for the most part, volunteering little information about the last few years and even less about his new life (understandable), but his friends and family took it in stride. They seemed content with him just being there, though Reynolds made a comment about 'Dan and Matt losing big time', apparently in regards to a bet about if Andrew would show up at all to the dinner. Other than occasional flashes of temper at certain topics, Andrew seemed almost bored, but Abram was learning to know better.

He was grateful when the night finally came to an end, with Reynolds and Walker leaving together to be driven home, and Erik helping to steady a tipsy Nicky as they went outside to wait for the car to be brought around for them; the six of them were to meet up again on the 24th for brunch before Nicky and Erik returned to Germany and the women went off to one of the Reynolds' family estates. "Oh, that was a fun night," Nicky crooned.

"Speak for yourself," Andrew said before he lit up a cigarette.

"Ah, come on! You got to see Renee! You adore Renee!" Nicky frowned at Andrew before almost falling over in his attempt to turn toward Abram. "Don't you adore her too?"

"I think 'adore' is too strong a word, but she seems pleasant," Abram offered as he huddled in his coat.

"'Pleasant'? She's amazing! Oh my god, what is wrong with you?"

"Don't get him started," Andrew remarked as he flicked ashes aside, which earned him a narrowed look from Abram.

"Uhm, baby? I think you need to be a little quiet," Erik told his husband in German, which got Nicky babbling about crazy British people in the language; Abram easily ignored it in favor of getting in the car.

One and half more days, he told himself. And Andrew better not ever complain about Abram's family again.

Nicky and Erik went out to spend some time with Walker and to do more sightseeing the next day, thankfully, while Abram enjoyed how much quieter the house was without them. Bren came over for a couple of hours while Andrew went out to meet up with Walker as well for lunch, but other than to talk about how much of an idiot Ally made of himself at one of the parties (not a big surprise), Bren left Abram alone and watched some television while Abram worked.

He came out of his bedroom later on for some water to find Andrew in the kitchen, staring at a box of pastries sitting on the counter. "Something wrong? It's unusual for something with a high sugar content to last very long with you in the house."

Andrew made a rude gesture in Abram’s direction. "Renee bought them, it's those puddings you have for Christmas. She thought we should do something for the day when she heard we weren't planning much."

"Ah." They had the offer to go over to Uncle Will's, but Abram had pleaded off this year, saying that it seemed a bit much with Andrew and all. That they'd do something smaller on their own. In other words, order take-away and ignore the day, and count themselves thankful to not have to deal with the noise and the fuss. "Well, they'll go good with whatever we order out for the day."

"Hmm." Andrew stared at the box a little longer before he picked it up and stuck it in one of the cabinets. "Things have been quiet."

"Yes, probably will be like that for the next couple of days, then pick up around New Years," Abram explained. "Seems everyone’s too busy with holiday stuff to get into trouble, go figure." He shrugged a little as he grabbed a bottle of water from the fridge.

"How pathetic," Andrew said with more than a little disdain.

"Hmm, well, since we're skipping out of the family dinner, we'll probably be called on to deal with anything. Look on the bright side," Abram told his friend, who gave him another rude gesture.

He ended up staying out there a little longer than he had intended, talking about some of the stuff Sabine had sent him and how it most likely meant that they'd be back in France after the new year, when the alarm pinged to let them know that Nicky and Erik had returned. Erik was holding on to several bags, which indicated that they'd done a good bit of shopping while out, and Nicky was carrying a parcel.

"Hey! Did you know that at least one of your neighbors is famous? I mean, I'm not a big fan of her stuff, bit too screechy and not so easy to dance to, but some people like it," Nicky said.

Abram frowned at the man while Andrew stood up straight beside him. "It's that type of neighborhood, though we never really introduced ourselves to each other. Where are you going with this?'" And what did it have to do with the box?

Nicky wrinkled his nose while Erik put the bags down on the floor. "You two need to get out more. Anyway, her PA came over - sweet girl, offered us tickets but we're leaving too soon - and said the package got delivered by mistake. It's for you." He held it out to Abram, but Andrew moved in a dark blur to snatch it from Nicky's hands. "Hey! I said it was for Abram!"

"I heard you," Andrew told him, his tone perfectly flat and his face expressionless as he headed back to what was technically the office, tucked behind the kitchen. Abram followed after giving Nicky and Erik a bland smile.

"Dinner in bit, yes? See you then."

Any mail for Abram was handled by Bren and Davis, was checked and approved before it got to him - that was _if_ he got any mail. The 'family' handled his bills, paid for the house and anything he charged and all the other expenses. Anything mailed to him was along the lines of documents or files he needed to review or analyze, and they wouldn't come straight to where he lived, they would be sent somewhere safer, somewhere more secure and less traceable. If he needed any items, he told Bren or Davis or someone else, and they obtained the things for him - again, untraceable and more secure. Nothing reached Abram unless it was checked and verified.

So there was no way a parcel could have been sent like that, out of the blue, and definitely not 'accidentally' delivered next door.

It didn't look like much, just an average-sized box for that time of year, big enough for small items (or a head, he couldn't help but think), marked from one of the bigger shipping companies. It had his address on it, but he was willing to bet that the return address was fake.

Andrew set it down on the barely used desk in the room lined with mostly empty bookshelves after holding the box in his hands for a few seconds and giving it a tentative shake. "It feels too light for a bomb or anything like that," the American said before he looked up at Abram.

They should probably call Davis and have the package x-rayed... but that would take time, and it would probably raise questions with Nicky and Erik. "Open it," Abram decided. The Moriyamas couldn't risk anything that would cause too much damage, not with where they lived. Not if they wanted Abram alive.

Andrew stared at him for a moment before he slipped free a knife and began to cut through the tape. It only took a few seconds, and then he was pushing past bright red tissue paper to pull out a stuffed animal. It was a stuffed Peter Rabbit. It was Abram's Peter Rabbit. More exactly _, Nathaniel’s_ Peter Rabbit.

He remembered when his mother had given it to him when he was a small child, had remembered holding onto it at night when he'd lie awake in his bed terrified, when he'd been curled up in pain, when he'd hunched over and do his best to not cry from what his father had done on him, his father and DiMaccio and Lola and-

And Andrew's hands were on him, one on the back of his neck, another on his shoulder, those hazel eyes staring at him. "Breathe. _Breathe,_ " he was told as he struggled to push back the awful memories. "If you pass out, I will punch you."

Abram continued to stare at his friend, at the even look at Andrew's face, and a choked, weak laugh escaped him as he closed his eyes and rubbed at his now sweaty face. "Uh-okay," he managed to say after a few seconds. "You prat."

"Not the one freaking out over an early Christmas gift, am I? Even if it's a bit fucked up."

That last part made Abram lower his hands and force himself to look over at the desk, where Andrew had dropped the stuffed rabbit. The colors had faded over the years, its velveteen coat so pale a blue that it was almost a grey. Abram felt his breath catch when he noticed that the rabbit's ivory belly was covered with slashes that had been crudely stitched back together with black thread, its plastic eyes replaced with two blue buttons. He reached for the old, formerly beloved toy before he forced himself to drop his hand; he'd had so few personal possessions growing up, and that had been special not only for its rareness but because his mother had given it to him. Had given it to him in defiance of his father, who found the stuffed toy to be 'silly' and a senseless gift for a boy.

Beside him, Andrew checked the box and then pulled out a piece of paper. "’To Junior, a bit of Christmas past. Looking forward to spending the holidays together again’." He frowned as he turned the paper around, but it was plain printer paper, no watermark, and the message had been printed out, so no traceable handwriting.

"It's from my father," Abram said as he made himself look away from the stuffed rabbit. "Him or one of his people. I didn't think he'd have kept any of my things, it's been so long." They'd left everything but a couple of changes of clothes when they'd fled, those few pieces of clothes and the money his mother had stolen.

"Your father." Andrew gave him a searching look as he sat on the edge of the desk and picked up the rabbit. "Rather touching gift, no?"

"Just get rid of it," Abram told his friend, his voice hoarse at the thought of losing that piece of his past, that connection to his mother. But in the end, it was something his father had sullied, him or one of Nathan's people, and Abram didn't want it any longer. "Put it away and burn it," he insisted as he rubbed at his left wrist.

That earned him another long, heavy look before Andrew put the note and the stuffed animal back into the box, which he set down on the floor behind the desk. "Stuart's going to want to see that."

That wrung another weak laugh from Abram. "Wonderful, just what I need right now, my uncle nannying me." He let out a sharp breath as he jerked his right hand through his hair. "There's nothing anyone can do, all right? The bastard's all the way across the ocean, surrounded by some of the most sadistic guards around." He thought about the Malcolms and Plank then shook his head. "He can't come here, his probation won't allow it, but he finds ways to get his point across from time to time." To remind Abram that he was living on borrowed time.

Andrew stood in front of him once more, his expression now one of resolve. "I told you, I wouldn't allow the Moriyamas to touch you. Since your father works for them, he's part of the deal, too."

"You don't even know who he is, you bloody fool," Abram hissed, tired of Andrew's insane insistence to stand between him and what was certain death. "You don't know-"

"Nathan Wesninski."

Hearing his father's name like that nearly triggered another panic attack, and Abram stared at the American for a couple of seconds before he first slumped against the desk and then slid to the floor, his fingers buried in his hair and eyes closed. "Get out."

"Look, I-"

" _Get out_ ," Abram shouted as he hunched over even more, not wanting to hear it, not wanting much of anything just then but to be left alone. How long had - no, he didn't even want to think about it.

It was quiet for a few seconds, and just when he thought Andrew was going to leave, the bastard came over to the desk and sat down next to him, close enough for Abram to feel the man's body heat but not quite touching. "You're not leaving, dammit," he said, voice rough and low.

"Because I think you do stupid shit when you're alone," Andrew explained. "So I'm not letting that happen."

"You're not my fucking babysitter," Abram snapped as he let go of his hair so he could rub at his face.

"Actually, I am, per Stuart and our own agreement," Andrew informed him. "So stop being a whiny idiot." There were the sounds of various rustling followed by a lighter clicking, and then Abram's elbow was nudged. He sighed as he accepted a cigarette, not even caring that he was 'smoking' inside. "I found out a few days ago," Andrew continued as he reached over to snag the garbage can to use as an ashtray, then let a cigarette for himself. "Kevin Day called in a pathetic attempt to warn me away from you. You can blame him."

"Okay," Abram said as he breathed in the smoke. "What then?"

Andrew shrugged as he stared at the lit end of his cigarette. "Talked to Stuart about it, and found out a bit more your father. Guess we should have expected something like this - seems he tried to send something to Will as well, rubbing it in about Henry."

That probably explained Andrew's absence the other day. "Kevin knows me," Abram said after about a minute of breathing in smoke and just sitting there next to Andrew, of thinking back to... well, not better times, but in a way simpler ones. "Back when... my mom tried, when we lived with my father. Tried to give me some sense of normalcy. Even enlisted me in an Exy little league under a different name." He flicked ash off of the cigarette and laughed as he closed his eyes. "Funny thing? I was pretty good it seems. Played as a backliner and really loved it, and was so happy when my dad took me off to Castle Evermore to play with Riko Moriyama and Kevin Day.” He felt Andrew stir at that. “I didn't think much of it, didn't question why I was there, I just played with them and was happy. And then one day, we walked in on him chopping up some poor guy." The sound just then wasn't quite a laugh, and he flicked the cigarette into the can, unable to breathe in smoke while he thought about all that blood, about the way his father had looked as he swung the meat cleaver again and again and again. "That night, my mother stole the money and ran off with me, and it wasn't until about six years later that I found out that I was at Castle Evermore that day for Tetsuji Moriyama to see if I had enough talent for him to train me. If I did, then my father would have left me there the next day as official Moriyama property. If not, then my father would have done the same thing to me that he'd done to that poor guy." Sometimes he hated his mother for running away with him, for denying him that end - it wouldn't have been the quickest, but it would have been an end.

Andrew was quiet for a few seconds, then he made a scoffing sound. "Fucking Exy, why am I not surprised."

The amount of scorn in his friend's voice made Abram smile despite the depressing topic. "It does seem to be a common theme, doesn't it?" He opened his eyes and rested his head back against the desk. "I used to love the sport, you know. Until my mother told me the truth before she died. Could never look at it or Kevin and Riko the same way after that."

"Day is nothing but a talented little puppet," Andrew said, not without a touch of bitterness; Abram didn't think it was for himself, but maybe for what Kevin could have been. "Any spine he might have had, the Moriyamas tore out of him years ago. If your mother had left you with them... you'd be even more messed up than you are right now."

"Isn't that frightening to consider." Was it even possible? Sometimes Abram felt as if he was nothing more than bad decisions and awful memories bundled together by scars.

They both were quiet for a minute or two before Andrew sighed. "So I owe you an answer."

"Hmm?" It took Abram a moment to realize what his friend meant by that. "I didn't realize we were playing."

"Doesn't matter, you gave me an answer," Andrew said with a shrug that brushed their shoulders together.

"An answer you already knew."

"It was more than that," Andrew argued, his thick, pale brows drawn together. "I just knew your father's name, not the rest of that stuff."

"I..." Abram groaned as he rubbed at the back of his neck. "Okay, why did you let Nicky come here this week? And don't tell me because it's safer than him staying at some hotel. Everything I've heard from him... you seemed fine with being by yourself after you graduated, and now you're talking to him and Walker again." When maybe it was better that Andrew didn't.

Andrew looked at his cigarettes as if debating whether or not to have another one, then seemed to decide on 'not'. "Because part of it was that he'd be better off here, and I knew that he'd come visit even if I told him not to." Andrew stared at his hands, at his calloused knuckles, for several seconds. "Because he pretty much was the only one to stick with me through everything, when everyone else walked away. Renee tried even after I cut her off, but it's not so easy with everything she has going on. Nicky kept writing and calling and tracking down my new phone numbers somehow, the stubborn bastard. So I'm going to keep an eye on him and make sure nothing happens to him just because he's related to a fuck-up like me. Renee... she can take care of herself, so it wasn't a big deal to spend a little time with her, and I told her to get the others to back off a little. But Nicky's my responsibility."

That was something that Abram could understand, the need to protect family even when they drove you crazy. "All right."

The both of them fell quiet once more, and Abram found an odd sense of comfort in it, in Andrew sitting so close, so warm and solid and _there_. If it were any other of his family's people, they would probably be telling him that everything would be all right, to just forget about the parcel and his father and move on. Not Andrew. The man wasn't afraid to call Abram on his shit the same time he managed to somehow talk Abram back down. It... it was the oddest thing.

After a few minutes, Andrew gave a weary sigh and got up, once more brushing against Abram's left shoulder and arm, leaving his skin tingling in wake of that contact. "I'll call Bren to come pick this crap up." He hesitated for a moment before he bent down for the box. "You going to hide in your room all night or what?"

Abram ran his right hand through his hair. "I... don't know if I'm up for going out, really. Sorry." The last thing he wanted to do was sit in a restaurant all night and wonder if his father's people were around him, or some of the Moriyamas'.

Andrew frowned a little as he stood there with the box in his hands. "Why don't we just order in, then? Sure Nicky won't object, and if he does, he can take a damn cab out to wherever he and Erik want to eat."

About to say that he just wanted to do some work for the night, Abram noticed how Andrew's frown deepened when he opened his mouth so he decided to save himself the losing battle and gave in with just a little ill grace. "I have veto power over what we order."

His requirement was met with a half-hearted shrug. "Better you than Nicky," was all Andrew said before leaving the office.

Abram remained in the quiet room for another minute or two to help settle his thoughts before he went out to deal with the others, to deal with talking to people about normal things and going through the motions of a somewhat normal life. And if at some point during the evening he found his thoughts drifting back to the stuffed rabbit and how those crude stitches matched up to some of the many scars beneath his thick grey sweater, or to the dreary, nerve-wracking holidays spent at that mausoleum of a home back in Baltimore... then all it took was a gentle, fleeting touch of Andrew's hand on his nape or shoulder, a lingering look from clear hazel eyes and he found himself able to shake off the past and center himself in the present. To smile at Nicky's antics or Erik's deep, warm laugh, to somehow feel safe in Andrew's quiet yet solid presence.

He didn't understand it, yet he clung to it all the same.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, so mean of me to put the Renee scenes in Abram's pov. Hmm, what did Andrew and Renee talk about? :-) (and Andrew and Nicky, for that matter). Maybe next chapter.
> 
> I wasn't certain about the Kevin cameo so early, either. But when it came time for the phone call, just didn't want it to be anyone from Nathan's camp just yet. So yeah, you got your glimpse of Kevin. Not to trash the poor boy (he's taking a beating in this fic, I know, I know), but it's just how he is in this universe. Not having Neil there to show him how to stand up for himself, he relied too much on Andrew. And when Andrew didn't go off to the pros... well, yeah. Not good. He couldn't manage on his own and it got to be too much to keep fighting against Riko.
> 
> And I know I say this (and say this, gah!) but my schedule is REALLY going to get thrown off soon - October is going to be insane for me. I'm off to Atlanta next weekend for AWA, and the first half of the month is... yeah. So definitely not biweekly fic posts. I need to figure out the schedule - sometimes it's easier for me to write newish stuff (meaning not WDWG since I have to reference the novels a lot). Which might mean more Armies. Sorta. In the little time I have to write.
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> *******


	6. Choke

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah, so slight change to the schedule this week - Armies instead of WDWG (it's a Sunday post, though!). I'm thinking I may try a fic prompt to get something out this week since I'm heading out to AWA this weekend, then try to get back on track next week. We'll see. But yeah, Armies for now, a short (HA! for me) chapter that managed to get what I wanted done in it.  
> *******

*******

Andrew stared at the three men they'd come down to some closed store undergoing renovations in the 2nd district in Paris, a small spark of annoyance flaring to life inside of him. "That was a crack about my height, wasn't it?" he asked Abram, who leaned against the wall near the front door, the perfect picture of insolence in fine bones and grey wool.

"Hmm, both our heights, really, but yours in particular," the Brit agreed as he barely bothered to look up from his phone. "Also, I don't think they like Americans." A slight smile curved his lips as his fingers flicked out toward the broadest of the three thugs.

"No one does over here," Andrew said as he flexed his own fingers and eyed up his targets. "But that's okay, because no one else can stand these pathetic bastards, either." As he suspected, at least one of them had a decent grasp of English and they were sticking to French just to annoy him, because the one with the cheap tattoos on his hands - little more than black blurs - charged at Andrew at that point. Andrew waited for the last possible moment to twist aside as he swung out with his right fist as hard as he could, feeling some satisfaction as bone crunched beneath his knuckles.

After that, it was constant motion and split decisions, was the only type of dance he lost himself in. He ducked back and twisted about, hands and feet lashing out, neck swerving around as he kept all three of the men in his sight as much as possible and took the occasional blow but dealt out so many, many more. He only flinched once, and that was when a quick flash of silver sang through the air to land in the older man's shoulder, right before something heavy and metallic clattered to the floor, a gun which Andrew kicked out of reach right before he took great pleasure in pulverizing the bastard's left kidney in retaliation. "Not nice," he told the man while the asshole screamed in pain.

"Keep one of them conscious," Abram reminded him, sounding somewhat bored.

"Killjoy," Andrew complained, but he let the man drop to the floor then ducked beneath the rather weak swing that the shortest one threw his way, and decided to be ‘nice’ himself and brought his knee up into the man's groin rather than punch him in the stomach and then knee him in the face. As the Frenchman let out an extremely embarrassing shriek and doubled over, Andrew elbowed him in the back of the head to take out any remaining fight then dragged him toward his rather lazy friend, while the other two bastards lay crumpled on the floor. "You were saying?" he bitched as he tossed the thug toward Abram's expensive shoes.

Abram sighed as he put away his phone, appearing for all the world rather put out by the whole situation; Andrew knew better, knew not to be fooled by the disinterested look on that gorgeous face so clearly on display with the black hair pulled back in a silver clip that had been a Christmas present from Jamie. So he wasn't surprised when Abram ground the toe of that expensive shoe onto the Frenchman's right hand while leaning down a little, speaking loud enough to be heard over the thug's cry of pain.

While he questioned the poor bastard, Andrew went over to retrieve both the knife Abram had thrown earlier and the wayward gun, while making certain that the other two men weren't getting up any time soon. His jaw ached a little as did his right side, but nothing that would slow him down. When that was done, he went over and gave Abram's conversation partner a light kick in the ribs to help speed things along, which earned him a quick glance before his friend once more concentrated on wrapping things up. When Abram seemed satisfied with the beaten man's slurred responses, he managed a well-placed kick to the man's right temple to knock him out.

"So annoying," Abram remarked as he stepped over the slumped body by his feet. "Now we have to go back to Maury."

"Think he lied to us?" Andrew asked as he ran his right thumb over his reddened knuckles.

Abram seemed to consider the question. "Not so much as probably held back some information." He slanted Andrew a hooded look. "Give me a minute with him before you go with scaring it out of him."

"I know not of what you speak," Andrew proclaimed as they stepped outside.

"Oh yes, the innocent routine, very convincing." Abram shoved his hands into the pocket of his grey overcoat. "Save it for someone who doesn't know you."

Andrew merely gave his friend the finger before lighting up a cigarette; the thing was, Abram did know him - or knew him well enough. Living with a person for a few months tended to convey a fair amount of knowledge like that, as did their little 'game'.

It had been a busy start to the year, things picking up right after Christmas. Andrew should have guessed that the package from Abram's father would be a warning of sorts, a sign that Ichiro Moriyama and Nathan Wesninski were getting tired of their little 'dance' with the Hatfords dragging on for so long. That or they'd made it their new year's resolution, to get their hand on 'Nathaniel' and weaken the Hatfords as much as possible.

Either way, it meant a lot of failed attempts to break into the family's network, to plant moles and even a few stabs at taking out Will, which meant it wasn't fun to be around Jamie at all, Stuart barely spoke without every other word being an expletive, and Andrew had his hands full keeping Abram from doing something stupid.

And now they were back in Paris, because Simone had reported some troubling rumors tied to the Hatford name, some people claiming to be part of the family's organization doing some not very good things (well, unapproved of things, really). Things that might tarnish that 'entrenched' image, that might make some of the family's allies a bit displeased. Might make the Hatfords out to be a little too much like the Moriyamas.

They got back into the BMW coupe so Andrew could return them to the bar in the Latin Quarter which Maury Adams, a British ex-pat, owned. He didn't officially work for the Hatfords, but he'd done them a few odd jobs here and there, and the Hatfords him a few favors over the years, so Abram could lean on him for some information. Especially since Abram had a feeling that something wasn't right in Paris, that the rumors were pointing to the Moriyamas buying off one of their own.

They reached Folie Rouge, Maury's bar, with Andrew parking out front and slipping a couple of wide-eyed teenagers smoking outside a fifty euro bill each and a discrete business card to hand off to any police officer who came around to bother with the BMW. Maybe it was the roughened knuckles, maybe it was the expensive outfit or the flat expression, or maybe it was all of it together, but the kids were downright respectful. Or maybe Davis was right and word was getting around about the 'midget goth' and how you didn't want to mess with him, that the Hatfords had finally found someone as bad as Abram with his terrible smile and sharp knives to guard the man's back.

Yet for all the people who were learning to give Andrew a wide berth and that fear-tinged respect, there were assholes like Maury, who grinned at them as they walked over to him at the bar, a bottle of cheap beer held in one of his meaty hands as he eyed them up and down. "Well, if it isn't Tweedle-Dee and Tweedle-Wee," he called out in his thick accent. "Back so soon?"

"Do I have to wait?" Andrew asked in Mandarin.

"Just a minute," Abram insisted, then switched back to English. "A moment of your time, in private." When Maury took a sip of his beer, that awful smile came out. "Now."

Maury flinched at it, and his hand trembled as he set the bottle down on the bar; Andrew would have to say that Abram was right, that the man had held something back during their visit earlier. "This is just a waste of all of our times," Maury grumbled as he led them through the half-filled bar, back to his office. Along the way some guy went to stand up as if to come along, but one look from Andrew had him sitting down in a hurry. "Don't know why you're bothering with me."

Abram's expression shifted into that 'too polite' smile of his as Andrew closed the door behind them once they were in Maury's cluttered office. "Really? Because it's the oddest thing, what I heard from one of Romain’s men. It's that they were paid to help out with a shipment three nights ago – a shipment I know nothing about, and I just reviewed the books with Simone.” Abram leaned against the grimy wall, his arms folded across his chest and his long legs crossed in front of him, so sharp and lean that if one didn’t have the door as a reference he’d seem taller than he really was. He certainly was in strident contrast to Maury, who sat crumpled in his chair, clothes wrinkled and beer belly hanging over the belt of his pants. “Who is it, Maury? Which of our people are taking on side jobs, and what is it?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Maury insisted as sweat beaded on his broad, ruddy face. “Those guys must be lying.” But Andrew saw the way his lips twitched as he smiled, the muscles flexing in his jaw and his fingers rubbing against the smooth fabric of his pants. He’d learned long ago to watch people closely in order to anticipate what they’d do next, to know if he had to brace himself for more pain or if he had any chance to run and hide, and now those skills were coming in handy in an entirely new way. Now they told him if someone was lying, or if someone was going to be stupid enough to try to run or fight back.

There was a long sigh as Abram flicked a cool glance Abram’s way. “I asked, Maury. Do remember that.”

That was Andrew’s cue; he stepped forward, and maybe Maury had some intelligence after all, had heard the rumors because his face flushed an even brighter red and he scrambled to push the chair back as far as possible, until it hit the wall behind him. “No, _no_! Fuck, I’ve worked with the guy for years, can’t you understand that? We’re friends, dammit!”

“Good for you, I’ll be sure to let him know you did your best to protect him,” Abram said while Andrew paused for a moment. “Now, just how far do you want that friendship to drag you down, because it sounds to me that this person has broken his word to my family.” Abram pushed away from the wall to come stand beside Andrew, his expression utterly void of any emotion. “Which means he has a very steep price to pay, as does anyone who stands beside him.”

Sweat was pouring down Maury’s face as he stared back and forth between Andrew and Abram. “Fuck. _Fuck_. It’s… it’s Eliot, all right? Eliot Tasse. And I’m not a hundred percent certain… but I heard that the cargo is… fragile, if you get my drift.” Maury winced as he said it.

Andrew didn’t have to look over at his friend to know that Abram’s expression just then wasn’t pleasant to see. “Eliot Tasse,” Abram repeated. “I understand. If you try to warn him we’re coming, it will be… very unfortunate for you and yours. Good night, Mr. Adams.” He gave a slight bow of his head before spinning around on his heel. Andrew paused only for a second to give Maury a narrowed look to make sure the message sank in, and then was at Abram’s back as they left the bar.

As soon as they were in the BMW (Andrew slipped more money to the kids upon finding it untouched outside – there were other reputations it paid to have, such as it being worth the while to keep people from fucking with his rides), Abram was on the phone to Stuart to update his uncle on what they’d found out. Even with the purr of the engine and a couple of feet away, Andrew could hear the man let loose a very impressive string of curses when Abram confirmed that someone on the Hatford payroll appeared involved in human trafficking. It wasn’t until they’d almost reached the hotel that Stuart finally hung up.

“They’ll be here by morning,” Abram informed Andrew as he dropped the phone onto his lap and rubbed at his forehead. “So best get some rest tonight, because it’s going to be nasty tomorrow.”

“We’re going to wait that long?” Andrew asked.

“Tasse has quite a few people reporting to him, and there’s no telling how many outsiders he’s taken in,” Abram explained. “Too much for just the two of us, or so Stuart has said. Considering the unknown element, I have to agree. Besides, I don’t think Maury is going to risk the full wrath of the family by tipping off Tasse.”

Probably not, once Abram had made it clear that they were taking the guy down no matter what. “So you weren’t kidding back there, we’re taking out everyone?”

Abram gave a curt nod at the question. “Anyone working with Tasse.” He turned to look at Andrew, his expression solemn. “We don’t take traitors lightly.”

Somehow that wasn’t a surprise. Considering Andrew’s own feelings on people breaking their word, he wasn’t going to have a problem dealing with Tasse and anyone following him, especially if it was true about the human trafficking.

He left the car with the valet then they went into the Hotel Plaza Athénée and up to their suite, where Andrew had a whiskey and Abram helped himself to a rather large glass of gin before excusing himself for the night and retreating to his room. Somehow that didn’t surprise Andrew, not after what Maury had said. So he had another whiskey while looking out the windows in the main room, refilled the glass and then went into his own bedroom.

Once in there, he stripped off the coat to his suit, wincing only a little from the hit he took to his side, then decided to finish undressing. He set his phone and wallet on the nightstand by his bed… and then sat down, still dressed in a pair of black slacks as he opened his wallet and fetched out the small silver fox charm that Renee had given him as a mix of a belated birthday and Christmas present.

She had smiled as she’d handed him the tiny box, and only the fact that he knew she didn’t have much money, that the Peace Corps didn’t pay shit and she’d just finished talking about how Allison had won the fight over paying for most of Renee’s ticket to the UK rather than letting Renee empty her bank account just to check up on ‘the monster’ (she hadn’t quite said that last part, but Andrew could read between the lines. He knew Allison would have gladly flown to Africa to spend the holiday with Renee and managed to find them a great place to stay that would have saved Renee the money, that Renee hadn’t needed to come to London just to spend her holiday break with the woman but then he’d shown up out of the blue. And when she hadn’t backed down once he mentioned ‘Moriyama’? Yeah) meant that not even he could throw it back in her face. But he didn’t have to wear the ridiculous thing, the elegant swirl of silver representing a sitting fox. He’d only ever been a ‘Fox’ under the most dubious of circumstances, for a chance to feel those brief times during a game and so Aaron could get that chance at a medical degree. Well, it had worked out for one of them in the end.

Why did people try to hold on to the past so much, he wondered as he had some more whiskey. Renee should understand that some things were best left buried – look at how she threw herself into the whole ‘I’m a sweet Christian girl’ persona, how she was trying to atone for her many sins by building schools and coddling orphans and whatever other shit she was doing in a foreign country. She was running as far from her past in Detroit as possible, yet she insisted on clinging to those years at Palmetto State, and that Andrew cling to them as well. Was it so wonderful, being the laughing stock of Class I Exy? Even when they’d crawled up the ranks, they’d barely been treated with respect, and that was only because of Kevin. Only for the traitor to turn around and negate all the hard work Renee and the rest of her precious Foxes had put in during his years on the team.

Sometimes Andrew wondered why he bothered with her, between her selective hold on the past and her disgusting insistence on looking at the ‘bright’ side of things. That if he was talking so much to Nicky that he must be willing to mend bridges with Aaron. That if he was in a new country with a new job that he must finally be embracing life and hope. That he was no longer depriving himself of the joy to be found in a relationship because of Abram.

And Andrew thought that Abram was fucked up. Maybe Renee had gotten a bad batch of anti-malaria pills of something.

What an _enlightening_ lunch that had been. Andrew hadn’t quite come clean about his new life, but he’d set Renee straight as much as possible, knowing that she was one of the few people who could keep a secret. So no, no chance in hell of mending that bridge with Aaron, his twin had chosen his little cheerleader wife in the end and that was that. As for the rest, Andrew was more throwing aside all the bullshit and restraints placed on him rather than ‘embracing life’, and to give her credit, Renee had just blinked at the rough summary of his new job – mainly told to her so she could come up with some explanation to the rest of the idiot Foxes so they left Andrew the fuck alone – and sighed when he was done talking. There was a hint of disappointment, but in the end she shook her head and asked him to be careful, then said that whatever he was doing, it seemed to give him a sense of purpose.

Then Renee brought up Abram again, and things got… a bit murky, as they tended to do whenever Abram thought about his friend. Just him referring to Abram in that manner made Renee give him an arch look, and she didn’t seem to buy his explanation that he was looking after the man as part of his job. Andrew didn’t even want to bring up the deal between them, not when Renee was smiling that small, satisfied smile of hers and hummed a little when he insisted on changing the topic.

Just because Andrew wanted the man didn’t mean that there would be something more between them. They were too fucked up, had too many issues between them, that this odd ‘friendship’ between them was best left without complicating it any more. Abram might be noticing Andrew more and more, might be looking at him in some other regard as just a person… but he seemed more confused than anything. And Andrew wasn’t going to do anything to help him on that matter.

His fingers held on to the fox charm hard enough that the silver bit into his skin, then he put it back into his wallet and finished getting ready for the night, since it seemed that the next day would be busy. It felt as if he’d just fallen asleep when his phone went off, Abram’s charming way of waking him up, telling him to be ready in ten minutes.

If he didn’t know that the idiot would be dressed and ready by then, he’d be pissed off, but he didn’t waste the time swearing or anything, just got up, showered in a few minutes (he skipped shaving for the day) and was shrugging on his coat when he stepped into the main room, just as Abram let in room service.

Well, the idiot got to live a little longer.

“Grab something quick, we need to meet Stuart in about half an hour,” Abram explained as he poured himself a cup of coffee. “And before you bitch, he just called me.”

“Nice of him,” Andrew commented as he picked up a couple of croissants.

“Hmm. Seems he just got in and wants to hit the ground running, so to speak.” Abram helped himself to some fruit, and they were quiet as they ate as quickly as possible – Abram something light, Andrew a bit more. They washed down their very early morning breakfast with some coffee and then were out the door, and the BMW was waiting for them.

Abram told Andrew where to go, close to Maury’s bar, and when they pulled up in the alley it was to find Stuart, Davis, and about ten other people assembled there, only a couple whom Andrew had seen before, such as Becca and Den.

Stuart, his expression closed off, gave the two of them a curt nod. “All right, we’re all here now.” There was no snark from the man for once, a clear sign that the situation was serious. “So listen up and then get your asses moving. Davis and I are going after Tasse. Ram, you and Andrew are taking out Chen.” While Stuart talked, Davis was busy tapping away on his phone, and both Andrew and Abram’s pinged a moment later. “Becca and Luc, you get Fleury. Den and Sara, you’re on Deschamps. Abir and Mateo, you’ve got Colas. Pat and Frankie, you get Hummel, so that leaves Julia and Ryan with Avery.” There were more pings, as Andrew assumed the other ‘teams’ got an address for where they’d find their targets, too.

A little put out that they didn’t get to take down the main guy – guess seniority had its privileges - Andrew glanced over at Abram, who was staring at his uncle. “Any idea how much back-up they have?”

“Count on at least a few bodies around for each, yeah? Far as we know, no one’s been tipped off yet, but they know they’re going against us, that sooner or later we were going to figure it out,” Stuart said. “It’s a salt the ground mission, you all get that?” He gave them a cold look as he glanced around the alley. “These fuckers have turned their backs on us, have broken their word. No mercy, no second chances. I want them dead, I want them to be examples of why you don’t ever sell us out.”

“Understood,” Mateo said, while at the compact man’s side, his taller partner nodded, expression grim.

Stuart seemed convinced with everyone’s resolve, then looked over at Andrew; his grey eyes flickered to Abram before they once more focused on Andrew in a silent message. Andrew just gave him a bland look back, well aware that he had to watch out for the idiot by then. “Now get your asses moving, I want this done in the next couple of hours.”

“I’ve heard some terrible motivational speakers before,” Andrew said as he headed back to the BMW. “Your uncle isn’t that much better.”

“Perhaps because he can always back up his words with a gun?” Abram said as he slid into the car.

“Speaking of which, tell me you brought yours,” Andrew asked, then sighed when Abram was quiet. “You do love making my job hard, don’t you?”

“I thought you liked challenges,” Abram said as he rolled up his sleeves a little.

Andrew answered that by giving him the finger, then focused on getting to the 13th district; that early in the morning there wasn’t much traffic, at least.

Chen was located in Paris’ version of ‘Chinatown’, which was probably why Stuart had assigned Tasse’s right hand man to Abram. Andrew found a mostly decent place to park the car a couple of blocks away from the converted something or another where Chen was staying and handed over some money to a few loitering kids to watch over it (some things never changed, no matter the years or the country, though the high unemployment rate helped) – speaking a bit of Chinese helped as much as the money.

They checked for security around the building and decided to go for the side entrance since it had the least cameras, with Abram picking the lock while Andrew stood on guard with his Glock in hand, held off to the side so it wasn’t noticeable. Abram was rather quick with the breaking and entering, making Andrew wonder how often he did it.

Still, something had probably been tripped, so they slipped in as quickly as possible, Andrew with his gun held out and Abram with a knife in each hand, and they made it to the second floor before someone appeared. The advantage of surprise and the very early hour on their side, Andrew got the shot off first, and was pleased to see that all the time on the firing range had paid off. As soon as the man’s body hit the floor, Abram was rushing forward, knives flashing as he took out the other man coming out before he could target either of them.

“You do know that knives don’t do you a damn bit of good in a gun fight,” Andrew snapped after he shot another of Chen’s people, this time a woman who almost got the better of him except for being distracted by her colleague’s chocked off cry when Abram put an end to him; Andrew’s ears were starting to ring from the sound of gunfire and he hoped like hell that either the thick walls of the old building were muffling the gunfire or that Chen paid off his neighbors to ignore this shit.

Instead, Abram motioned ahead of him, at the steps leading up onto the third floor, before running up them. Andrew cursed and made sure that they weren’t leaving anyone alive to sneak up behind them then followed the idiot, to find Abram pinned down at the top of the stairs, down to one knife in his hand and bleeding from his left arm.

“Serves you right, you suicidal idiot,” Andrew said as he waited for a few more shots to be fired while Abram glared at him. When the bullets paused, he took a deep breath and leaned out a little while firing mostly random shots; he managed to take out the guy next to Chen, but before Chen could shoot him, Abram got the bastard with a knife in the upper chest. Funny how that knocked the fight out of the guy, who appeared in his mid-thirties and had at least a couple of inches in Abram, along with a stocky build. Even with him hunched over and gasping in pain, neither Abram nor Andrew moved right away from the stairwell, which was good since Andrew caught a slight motion off to the far left and took out yet another enforcer or bodyguard or whatever.

Abram called out something in French after that while Andrew reloaded a new clip in his gun, which got them a mix of Chinese and French in return. Abram rolled his eyes before he nodded to Andrew, who stepped out first and fired off a couple of shots when he noticed the one guy on the floor was still breathing. Chen cursed at him for that; Andrew’s French was on the pathetic side, but he knew all the curses by now, and a good bit of the insults. It was a matter of priority, after all – he’d bother with the polite shit at a later point in time.

As he pointed his gun at Chen’s head to discourage the bastard from trying to do anything with either his own dropped weapon or the knife still sticking out of his chest, Abram came up behind him, footsteps silent but murmuring in French the entire time. Whatever he said made Chen huff, at least until he coughed up some blood.

“Wise up,” the traitor said in English. “The Moriyamas… better opportunities.”

“Yes, see where they led you,” Abram said with that awful smile on his face. “So much better indeed.” He leaned forward and twisted the knife that stuck out of Chen’s chest, which made the man scream. “I hope the money was worth it,” Abram told him as he pulled out another knife. The smile still in place, he grabbed the man’s chin and dragged the sharp point down the right side of the man’s face while Chen screamed and attempted to pull away.

Andrew clicked his tongue as he grabbed onto his friend’s left arm, right where the bullet had grazed the idiot, and tugged him away from the still screaming and now half-blind traitor. “This is going to take too long,” he chided, not liking that smile just then, how it had sharpened in contrast to the lost look in Abram’s eyes.

“We have to-“

“ _We’ll_ do it,” Andrew told the idiot as he shoved Abram away from Chen, his gun held in his hand as he turned back to the sobbing mess on the floor. He regarded him for a moment before he shot the bastard in both kneecaps, prompting an annoying, high pitched scream, then let him wallow in the pain for a minute before he grabbed the man by his hair and gave him a rough shake. “So fucking annoying, this shit is.” Messy and useless and a bunch of posturing shit – dead was dead, and enough of a message. So he shot the bastard in the forehead and left him in the foul mess he’d made, in the evidence that he spent the last few minutes of his life pissing himself on his knees and in agony – that should be message enough for anyone, right?

Then he turned to find Abram standing there with the smile gone and that lost look still in those fake grey eyes, and Andrew paused before reaching out to place his left hand on the side of the man’s neck, to feel the pulse racing beneath the smooth skin. That jolted Abram out of whatever thoughts he’d been wallowing in, made him shake his head but not shake off Andrew’s hand. “What next?” Andrew asked, knowing better than to ask if Abram was all right.

Abram stilled for a moment, then walked away; since he seemed to have a destination in mind, Andrew followed, holstering his gun after a minute since it looked as if they were alone. Coming up to an office of sorts, Abram started typing at a computer which housed the surveillance system as if verifying that the cameras they’d seen outside were tied to it, then searched around to make sure that there weren’t any back-up drives or anything else before motioning for Andrew to grab it.

“We worried about anything else? Like the bodies and all?” Andrew asked after he yanked the hard drive free of all the cables.

“No, not this time – the point is for the message to get out. It’ll cost the family a bit of money to buy off the police, but it has to be done this way.”

Andrew raised an eyebrow at that. “Isn’t that a bit risky?”

Abram shook his head as they left the building. “Those who know would rather have an established criminal syndicate around than someone new pushing in and kick off a war. There’s enough people on the force willing to work with us for the sake of stability let alone to pad their paychecks that it won’t be an issue.”

The longer Andrew associated with Abram and his family, the more his long-held beliefs in humanity and bureaucracy were proven to be correct. “So why am I carrying this shit?” he asked as he dumped it in the BMW.

“Well, the less we have to ask the police to cover for us, the better, and Jamie will want to know just how bad things were here,” Abram explained as he shrugged out of his coat so he could look at the wound on his arm. “We just took out the top layer today, the clean-up will go on for a while, most likely.”

“Fun. Don’t bleed all over the damn car,” Andrew ordered as they returned to the hotel, Abram binding the wound with strips torn from his shirt. Once they were back in the room, Andrew looked it over, doing his best to focus on the wound and not the fact that Abram was sitting in front of him in just a tank top, and figured it was slight enough for him to clean and bandage up on his own. While he did that, Abram called Jamie and talked to his cousin on speakerphone.

“Chen’s dealt with, and we have a hard drive from the location,” Abram told his cousin.

“How many people were there?” she asked.

“Six, including Chen,” Abram told her, then winced as Andrew finished cleaning the wound.

“Hmm, think there’s still two more out there, but we’ll have Abir and Mateo track them down. I want the two of you back in London now that things are mostly wrapped up.”

Abram frowned a little. “We can-“

“No, get back here,” Jamie ordered. “You two did good, cleaning up house like that. Get back before anything happens, understood?”

Before the Moriyamas managed to fuck something up, in other words, Andrew translated. He gave the idiot’s injured arm a squeeze to make Abram hiss and get his mind off of tracking down Chen’s people. “All right, how soon do we leave?”

“Be back by tonight,” Jamie told them. “And good job.” Then she hung up, probably so she could check in on everyone else.

“I’ll see if Simone wants to pick up the hard drive,” Abram said. “Least we have enough time to clean up and everything,” he complained, but Andrew noticed the way his hand began to tremble once he put his phone down.

Done wrapping up the small wound, Andrew stepped back. “This type of shit happen often?”

“Hmm?” Abram looked up at him then shook his head. “No, thank god. Stuart will question Tasse before he kills him, try to get an idea of why the man turned. Usually it trickles down from the top.” He went to rub at the bandaged wound before Andrew smacked his hand aside. “That’s why in part Stuart travels around so much, to try and keep in touch with as many of our people as possible.” He was quiet for a minute. “It would be so much easier if it wasn’t for me.”

Andrew had been waiting for something like that and jumped in to nip the idiocy in the bud. “Does it ever get exhausting, carrying the weight of the world on those shoulders of yours?” When Abram glared at him, he gave the man a mocking look. “I mean, everything’s your fault, it seems. How do you go about blaming yourself for world hunger and poverty?”

“Dammit, it’s not funny,” Abram snapped, his eyes shining with anger and his hands clenched into fists. “Don’t you dare make fun of me!”

“And don’t you do something so fucking stupid as to blame yourself for what those greedy fucks chose to do,” Andrew shot back. “They decided that they wanted more than what your family offered them, to go back on their word. And the Moriyamas are always going to look for someone to use, for ways to make more money, to extend their power. If it wasn’t your family to take on, they’d be going after another.”

“But they’re going after my family because of-“

“If you’re going to blame anyone, blame your mother, from what I can tell,” Andrew told the idiot. “Blame her for not knowing what the hell she was getting into for marrying a psychopath.” He continued on before Abram could object. “Hell, blame your father for thinking that he could take a child away from your mother and that she and her family would let that idiocy go by without some sort of fight. Things were set into motion long before you joined the family so just let it go.”

Abram stared at him for several seconds before he shook his head. “But I’m not helping things.”

“You could probably argue that me being around isn’t helping things, either.” Andrew shrugged as he gathered up the gauze and tape so he could put it back in the small medical kit he now packed along in his suitcase. “I pissed them off with keeping Day away from the Ravens for the rest of his university career.”

“Are we going to play this game forever? We do have a flight to catch at some point.” Abram went over to the closet so he could fetch a shirt to put on; despite the scars, his upper body was worthy of admiration with all the time he spent on the rowing machine and practicing with those damn knives.

“Only however as long as it takes for you to stop being an idiot about this stuff,” Andrew argued. “I keep telling you, stop making my job more difficult.”

Abram just waved him away before grabbing what looked to be a change of clothes then heading into his bathroom. Taking the hint, Andrew went to get cleaned up a well, and by the time he was finished with his second shower of the day, they were set with their return flight home as well as a message from Davis saying that him and Stuart were fine (oh well, Andrew supposed that he had to take the good with the bad).

Still, the older Hatford remained in Paris for a couple of days to tend to the whole ‘Tasse’ affair, while Jamie seemed to find enough work for Abram to keep him locked down at the house (which he accepted without too much complaint, especially after she found out about his little injury). Andrew didn’t mind it too much, since the weather in London was crap, all rainy and cold.

David stopped by when the enforcer returned from Paris and gave the two of them a quick summary of what happened (mostly running down everyone associated with Tasse and then shutting down the couple of side ‘enterprises’ that the man had set up. Judging from how Davis skimmed over what those businesses were, Andrew knew that the man was trying to spare Abram some bad memories) before talking about an overdue long weekend off. However, before he left, he waited until Abram wandered off to warn Andrew that there would be something happening in a few days as a head’s up.

So when Andrew saw a call come through from Stuart about three days later, he let the phone ring a few times, then answered it. "What?"

"Pleasant as always," Stuart complained. "Look, there’s going to be a dinner tonight and you need to make sure that Ram comes, yeah? I'm sending you the time and place, just get him there. I don't care if you have to drag him along kicking and screaming, he's coming."

That sounded promising, didn't it? "What is it? Another family gathering?"

"Sort of." Stuart hesitated for a moment. "It's the fool's birthday in a couple of days, and Jamie wants to do something. Nothing big, no fuss, but she refuses to let him ignore it. So just a few of us for a nice dinner."

Andrew thought about that, about Abram's reaction and everything. "Ally going to be there?"

"What part of 'no fuss' don't you understand?" Stuart said as if he was an idiot. "Just bring him, all right?"

"Bonus pay," Andrew got out before the man hung up, then tapped his phone against his chin for a moment as he considered the night's plans. Hmm, seemed that someone was as keen as celebrating certain events as he was, weren't they?

He checked the information when Stuart sent it about a minute later, a popular but small restaurant in Chelsea, then went to face the beast, so to speak. Jamie must have already informed her cousin of the night's plans, because Abram was into the gin - screw the wine and doctored tea. "Am I going to have to carry you out of here tonight?"

"I'm seriously considering it," Abram remarked as he set the bottle aside. "Why do people have to meddle so much?" The question came out in a rather plaintive tone.

Andrew shrugged as he leaned against the island, figuring it was a rhetorical question. He used to think it was because people were twisting the knife so to speak, because they were adding to the pain and the abuse... and when he discovered it was the opposite, it was even worse. It was because they were trying to be _helpful_ of all things, the oblivious, awful fools. They wanted to help and make things better and stumbled along blindly to make things so much worse when they should just back the fuck off and leave well enough alone. "So, when's the day, hmm?" he asked, which made Abram look at him. "Stuart said it's in a couple of days."

"Oh." Abram finished off the gin and set the glass aside. "January 19th," he said as he ran his hands through his hair, then reached for the bottle again. "I'll be... twenty-five this year." He sounded as if he had to think about it a little. He also sounded as if he was surprised about that fact.

"Ah." Andrew thought about how Nicky had been upset about him still ignoring his own birthday and not wanting to do anything when he’d stopped back in Stuttgart in November. His cousin didn't seem to get that for some people, it was just a day like many others.

Done with his second drink, Abram sighed while he seemed to debate another, but put the bottle away instead. "So, when's yours?" he asked. "Fair is fair."

Andrew scoffed at that. "You should know better than that," he taunted as he tapped his fingers against cool marble before he answered. "November 4th." That appeared to startle Abram a little.

"Oh." His friend pondered the answer a bit. "I guess... well, seems you're not a fan of them either, huh?"

"One could say that," Andrew replied.

"Jamie promised it wouldn't be a big thing, it would just be us and a few people." Abram once more ran his right hand through that thick hair of his, his hand pausing to rest on the nape of his neck. "Last year...," his eyes grew unfocused. "It was a bit much. Aunt Miriam threw the party, had some cousins over and everything. I... I just got back from Beijing and... too much."

Beijing. Andrew took that to mean that Abram had to deal with Jain, and felt a molten flare of rage inside of him as his fingers curled into fists at the thought of Abram spending any time with the Chinese man. Of his friend - no. "Stuart told me to take you to the place, he didn't say we had to stay very long."

Abram's eyes focused on him at that, and the lost expression changed into a slight smile. "Not bad. But we'll see." Now Abram's expression was thoughtful. "We'll see. I need to do a few things," he told Andrew as he set his glass in the dishwasher before leaving the kitchen; as he walked past, close enough to touch, Andrew noticed that there was a bit of red at his friend's dark roots.

Part of him wanted to reach out and tell Abram to stop, to not bother with the dye, which he assumed was part of those 'things'. To let the red grow out and replace the too dark black which could make Abram appear so pale and foreboding at times. Andrew had given in to the impulse and looked up Nathan Wesninski a couple of weeks ago, had wanted to know more about his friend's father. And along with learning some very disturbing facts about the man (but merely 'hearsay', as Nathan managed to do away with all witnesses for the worst charges that the police and Feds tried to pin on him), he'd seen several pictures of 'the Butcher' over the last twenty years or so, enough so he could easily imagine Abram with his natural coloring. And dammit, that was _not_ something he needed in his head, when this senseless want continued to grow and grow with each passing day.

So he went down to the garage, to the makeshift target he'd fashioned down there a safe distant from the McLaren to practice his knife throwing skills for about an hour until his arm was aching, and then he took a nice long shower in his very large, fancy bathroom where he... 'relieved' some frustrations. Well, in a sense, because he had someone in mind the entire time he jerked off, someone with a lilting, often sardonic voice, with a lean body and haunted grey/blue eyes and-

Dammit, his mind really was messed up.

All of that meant that Andrew wasn't in the best of moods when he got dressed for the party, in his usual black but with a bit of extra care than usual; he'd noticed lately how Abram's eyes would linger on him, especially when he dressed a certain way. He doubted that anything would ever come of it, but at the moment... any little thing would serve as a salve to his ego. He was used to not getting what he wanted, but he wasn't used to this much... this much _nothing_.

He went down to the main level thinking that he'd have to drag Abram out of his room, and instead found his friend staring out of the french doors into the back garden illuminated by pathway lights, a glass of wine in his hand. For once Abram had forsaken his usual all grey outfit, wearing black skinny jeans and a pale blue sweater that looked so soft it had to be made out of cashmere or something equally luxurious. It reminded Andrew of the man's real eye color and made him wish yet again that the idiot would stop with the stupid black dye, would stop running from his past like that. "You don't let me have any fun," he complained as he came to stand near Abram.

The Brit closed his eyes and drained the remaining wine in the glass before he spoke. "What, were you hoping to knock me out and drop me off?"

"Something like that," Andrew admitted as he eyed Abram's pulled back hair and noted with some consternation that it had indeed be touched up in the last few hours. "How much wine have you had?"

"Not nearly enough," Abram admitted as he opened his eyes and turned around; Andrew was close enough to see the way those eyes widened as Abram looked at him, at the clingy shirt and form-fitting pants, and he didn't think it was the alcohol that caused the sudden flush of pink on those high cheekbones. "Nah-not enough," Abram stuttered as he glanced aside and nearly stumbled on his way to the kitchen.

Maybe it was bad of Andrew to feel smug just then, but he never claimed to be a good person. So he watched Abram fill a very full glass of wine and drink it as if it was water, then proclaim in a very quiet voice that he was ready to go, as if hoping Andrew would take him before he changed his mind.

There was something to be said for being estranged from most of his very small family, Andrew thought. Luther and Maria hadn't talked to him in years, especially not since Aaron had made it known about his sexual preference, and Aaron was a lost cause. That just left Nicky. Sometimes Andrew wondered if Nicky clung to him so much since it pretty much was just the two of them, the pariahs of the family, but things never were that simple with Nicky. The moron just refused to give up on certain things, and Andrew seemed to be one of those 'things', much to his dismay. At least, that's what he told himself most of the time.

The wine must have kicked in on the drive to Chelsea, with Abram slumping down in the seat and sending Andrew side glances he didn't seem to think Andrew noticed while he pulled a lock of his hair free from the silver clip holding it back and twisted it around his finger. There were times when Andrew just wanted to drag the idiot to the nearest salon to get those wavy strands cut off and spare him the mental images of running his own fingers through them, of grabbing them and - yeah, right then was one of them.

Andrew got out of the car and handed the key fob over to a very excited valet with a cold enough look that the guy calmed down somewhat, and had to go over to the passenger side when Abram didn't get out. "Come on, you idiot," he chided as he stood in front of the open door.

"I've changed my mind," Abram declared as he sat there and stared out of the windshield without moving. "I'm perfectly fine right here."

"Get out or I'll drag you out by your hair," Andrew said in an even tone of voice, which made the valet gape at him.

That got him a weary sigh, but the idiot listened, glaring at Andrew the entire time. "You're an utter bastard," Abram muttered as he stalked into the restaurant.

"Takes one to know one," Andrew shot back, not the wittiest of replies but still the truth.

The hostess must have been tipped off about them, because as soon as they entered, she had another young woman take their coats and then led them to a private room just big enough for the round table that already sat Stuart, Davis, Liz, Liliya, Jamie and Sean, an enforcer who Andrew had learned was dating Jamie. Stuart got up to give Abram a quick, almost awkward hug, followed by Jamie, and Abram appeared relieved when that was the end of the physical stuff for the time being.

For a social gathering it wasn't too bad, Stuart and Jamie didn't press Abram too much, seeming content to let him talk a bit in Ukrainian with Liliya to put him at ease. Andrew had a couple of drinks while he looked over the menu and traded a few insults with Stuart, until Abram and Liliya switched back to English.

"Hmm, I have a few things you might like," the young woman told Andrew with a smile as she toyed with the thick silver cuff around her left wrist. "Stop by soon, if you please."

Stuart scoffed at that. "Great, more goth shite, right?"

Liliya shot him a disapproving look. "Someone needs to be a bit daring, considering how... _bland_ the rest of you are." Jamie and Liz laughed at that while Abram sighed.

"It's called being proper," Stuart said with an offending sniff.

"I can't believe I'm listening to this," Abram mumbled as he rubbed at his face. "You make it sound like we're in banking or something."

"Well, so to speak," Davis said with a sharp grin. "Think our rates are better than some of those companies out there."

"Hush," Jamie chided the man. "It wouldn't hurt you to get a makeover," she told her uncle. "Touch up a bit of the grey, try a new wardrobe... who knows, maybe set up a Tinder account and all." Andrew could tell she was joking by the way the corner of her lips kept twitching. "Get back in the dating scene and all."

The man in question drained his drink in one go and held it in his hand as he pointed his index finger at his niece. "Go to hell," he told her with utter conviction. "Uppity brats, the both of you."

"I'm not even doing anything," Abram argued.

“Not yet, you are. But I know you, give it time. I think the two of you are trying to see which one can age me the fastest, you are,” Stuart grumbled.

“And Ally?” Abram asked as he toyed with his wine glass.

“Idiot’s giving me a fucking ulcer, he is,” Stuart complained, which made most of the table laugh.

There was a pause while two servers came out with their appetizers and checked to see if they needed more drinks, and then Jamie went on about a mostly safe story about her brother’s latest bout of idiocy, which involved him being a bit too infatuated with a colleague’s attractive wife. Apparently the woman had been a little flattered with the attention at first, but when she realized that Ally meant it as more than harmless flirting… well, Ally needed to both memorize important faces better and learn when to stop drinking. Fortunately the enforcer assigned to watch over him stepped in before it got too far out of hand.

“I’ve said it before, but I suggest neutering,” Abram argued as he once again toyed with that stray strand of hair. “Can’t we just see if it helps him focus better?”

Stuart and Sean winced at that, but Andrew thought his friend had a point. “He’ll grow out of it,” Jamie insisted. “Or I’ll knock him into a coma until he’s forty.”

“I’d say stick him in an office somewhere, but I’d hate to see what havoc he could create there.” Liz shook her head as she poured Liliya and herself some more wine. “Had enough of a headache with the Timmons mess.

“Yes indeed. And while we’re talking about offices, what do you think about us putting a few people up in Dublin, hmm?” Jamie asked Stuart and Abram, which carried the conversation through the entrees arriving. It got Abram to speak up some more, and Andrew was content to eat his pasta while they debated what people and the logistics and so forth of what Jamie was proposing.

After that things got a bit more informal, with Jamie asking Liz about any upcoming plans with her and Liliya, and Davis talking to Sean a bit. Stuart set his drink aside and motioned to Abram and Andrew. “You two. Things have been quiet around the new place, yeah?”

Abram tensed up at the question, while Andrew gave Stuart a mostly even stare. “For the most part, bar a fucked up package here and there,” he answered. “Why?”

Stuart shook his head as he glared at Andrew. “Wanted to know if you were settling in, you fucking dwarf.”

“Tell me, just how happy does it make you that there’s someone shorter than you for once, yes?” Andrew asked as he set his empty glass down on the table and reached for one of the bottles of red wine so he could refill it since there were no servers around at the moment. “Obviously your stunted growth has left its mark – I figure part of the Hatford legacy is the fact that you’re such short bitter bastards,” off to the side, he noticed that Davis and Sean gave exaggerated winces at the comment, “but really?”

Stuart stared at him for a few seconds before he opened his mouth, only to be cut short – ha, an interesting pun – by Abram. “You hired him,” Abram reminded his uncle. “I was all for him getting lost in Canada, but _you_ hired him.”

“You should have shot him, dammit,” Stuart griped. “This is _your_ bloody fault.”

“Somehow, it always is,” Abram said in an almost mournful tone, so Andrew gave him some more wine, too.

Jamie must have picked up on that, because she joined in on their conversation. “Minyard’s one of the better hires we’ve made lately, the damn McLaren aside,” she sniffed. “At least he didn’t whine too much over a damn nick.”

“Maybe because you put me on lockdown,” Andrew pointed out. “But still, I got roughed up more during an Exy game than I did from those Russians.”

“See,” Jamie exclaimed. “Who whined more when they got winged by a bunch of chavs a few weeks ago?”

Sean seemed to take offense at that, but he got cut short by the servers returning to clear their dinner plates, and soon enough returning with a huge torte cake that looked to be comprised of various layers of chocolate and buttercream. Andrew frowned at that, since he knew that Abram didn’t care for sweets. “So….”

Abram shrugged as Jamie started to cut into the cake – there was no singing, thankfully. “I requested it – figured that you didn’t get anything for your birthday and you would have at least appreciated a damn cake.” At Andrew’s flat look, he shrugged again. “Enjoy it, and we’ll take home anything leftover.”

Andrew thought about that, about Abram sitting through everything tonight just so they could get to a dessert the idiot didn’t even like, because he knew that _Andrew_ did. Because it was a belated birthday present or whatever, some attempt to make Andrew happy or… actually, Andrew didn’t know. He just knew that Abram had done this for him, some weird sort of gift that suited him so much better than anything that Nicky had ever tried, or any of the Foxes.

So he ate his piece of the delicious cake, and Abram’s since the idiot managed maybe two bites before giving up since the dessert was that sweet. There was indeed a lot left over since the cake was so big, and Jamie seemed rather happy about Abram saying he’d take home what was left, though she glanced at Andrew and smiled at the comment, while Stuart just glowered the entire time.

There were a couple of presents given to Abram after the cake, mostly in line of clothes.  Despite her complaints, Liliya stuck to Abram’s grey color scheme, while Jamie and Liz tried to break him out of it. Stuart gave the idiot some new knives, and pulled Andrew aside when Abram excused himself to use the bathroom before they left the restaurant.

“Look, he’s doing pretty good all things considered, but watch him, okay?”

Andrew glared at the older man. “Don’t tell me how to do my damn job,” he snapped.

Stuart eyed him for a few seconds before shaking his head. “He’s even worse when he cares for something, you do realize that, you fucking midget.”

How the hell was Andrew supposed to respond to that? To the implication that Abram gave a fuck for him, outside as a friend; he wanted to call Stuart as a delusional fuck, but Abram returned right about then and smiled at Andrew, his expression on the shy side right before he asked if Andrew had the cake all boxed up.

Dammit, he was fucked, wasn’t he?

They said their goodbyes before they gathered up their shit and waited for the valet to bring about the McLaren. Andrew eyed the way that Abram stood there with a distant look in his eyes, his fingers holding on to the bags containing his gifts even as he seemed so cut off from everything. It was a quiet drive home, where Andrew gave his friend some time to take in everything that had happened that everything. So he was a bit surprised when he went into the kitchen to put away the cake and Abram followed, to fill the hot water dispenser so he could brew a pot of tea.

“Really? Not enough alcohol for the night?” Andrew asked once the cake was put in the fridge.

Abram frowned at the counter for a moment. “I never thought I’d make it this far, you know. So many years of running, so many years of,” he paused as if considering something. “Well, it wasn’t easy. In fact….” He felt along his abdomen then shook his head. “I don’t know what I want to say right now.”

Andrew didn’t like the sound of that. “Why did you bother coming here, to take up with your uncles if you didn’t think you had a chance of surviving?” he asked.

Things were silent as Abram filled the pot with tea leaves. “Because I promised her I’d keep on, I’d keep running.” Abram huffed a little at that as he set the tin down on the counter. “We’d gotten so used to it over the years… it was our normal. Nothing mattered but moving forward. Everything was sacrificed so we could keep running – all ties, all belongings but the bare minimum, all we had was each other.” Abram stared into the tea pot with sometime resembling desolation. “She kept me alive, despite everything. But it caught up to her in the end. Sooner or later it’ll catch up to me, too.”

Before he knew it, Andrew bridged the space between them so he could crowd Abram enough to make the idiot look up at him. “I told you, I’ll watch out for you. I’ll protect you,” he insisted while Abram stared at him in surprise.

“But you’re up against too much,” Abram insisted. “My father and the Moriyamas.”

“Watch me,” Andrew told him. “I’m not afraid of the Moriyamas, and your father is just a bogeyman – more impressive in the dark when he can play tricks against you. I’m not impressed with either of them.”

Abram shook his head. “You should be.”

“No, you _shouldn’t_ be,” Andrew insisted. “You’ve bought into the shit you’ve heard all your life, about how powerful your father is, how the Moriyamas aren’t to be messed with and all that. I’m here to tell you they can be told to fuck off, that they’re infallible. The world’s bigger than you remember it being, you idiot. They have to play by a few rules now, rather than risk a shit ton of unwelcome attention.” He was so tired of this shit, after all those years with Kevin.

“Not enough to make them leave me alone,” Abram said as he shook his head. “They can’t let people think that someone can get away with defying them.”

“No,” Andrew agreed. “But they can’t just shoot things up and drag you away, either. So that gives us a bit of room to maneuver.”

Abram looked as if he didn’t want to ask how exactly they were going to maneuver, but he appeared a bit less dubious than he had before, so Andrew would take that as a ‘win’. He watched as his friend poured the hot water into the pot and shook his head when Abram gave a questioning look his way, going off to his room instead when it appeared as if the idiot had calmed down a bit.

This was in part why Andrew didn’t care for birthdays – who cared about thinking ‘one year down and another year older’? About that ‘family’ shit and all that? It never did any good, and most of the time all one wanted to do was forget the past year and get on with life. There was no need to point it out and give it any special attention, though he’d eat the cake Abram got for him. No sense in letting something that good go to waste.

The idiot would probably be all sulky and shit for the next couple of days, until his actual birthday passed. Hopefully Jamie or Stuart would come up with something to keep them busy until they were through the 19th and Abram could find something else to obsess with, Andrew thought as he got ready for bed.

********

Abram set his phone face down on the island and glared at his laptop; Jamie and Stuart had made a point to celebrate his birthday the other night, but now the other family members were wishing him a ‘Happy Birthday’ since it was the 19th rather than let the day slip past – he knew his uncle, aunt and cousin meant well, but he’d rather just forget the damn day. Forget that he was another year older, forget that it had any importance. For so many years, his mother had ignored the day, hadn’t acknowledged it because it was ‘ _Nathaniel’s_ ’ birthday, not Alex’s or Stefan’s or whoever he was pretending to be at that time. And he’d been fine with it. Birthdays back in Baltimore had been stressful things, had been more of a show that his father had insisted upon, had been Nathaniel forcing a smile in front of a cake that would turn his stomach when he took a bite or two in front of people he feared or didn’t know, as he opened a present he wouldn’t see again later most times (no ‘spoiling’ him), and strict orders to be on his best behavior. To just smile and nod politely and not say anything because one never knew if the people around were to be trusted.

Then to live in fear of when everyone would leave, for his father’s temper to be turned on him, because Nathaniel never seemed to live up to his father’s expectations, it seemed. There was always a lesson to be learned, a point to be driven home, and Nathan’s favorite present to his son had always been scars of some sort, physical or mental. And oh, how generous he’d been with them. So very, very generous.

Abram came back to himself hunched over on the stool, his arms wrapped around his waist, his fingers pressed against his sides and his breathing heavy. He took in the dark marble in front of him, the gleam of the metal appliances and the sheen of the cherry wood and expensive fixtures and glass and –

And almost fell off of the stool when Andrew touched him on the shoulder. “Fuck,” he gasped, voice ragged and heart thundering in his chest as if he’d just woken from a nightmare. “What?”

“You look as if you’re two seconds away from freaking out,” Andrew said, his expression one of disinterest yet his voice more calm than bored. “What stupid shit is going on in that head of yours now?”

“Don’t,” Abram told him, unwilling to put up with Andrew’s tough… whatever just then. “Not now,” he pleaded as he ran his fingers through his hair. “I need… let’s get out of here, okay?” Right then, the house was a bit too much like another one, stirred up too many memories. “I need some air.”

“I think you need more than that, but okay, let’s go,” Andrew agreed. “Grab your coat.”

A bit surprised by the sudden agreement, Abram blinked for a moment and then forced his trembling fingers to save his work on the laptop before he closed the lid then picked up his phone. He just grabbed his coat and slipped on a pair of shoes, unconcerned about how he was dressed at the moment, and went down to the garage with Andrew to see where his friend was going to take him.

They ended up at the South Bank, parking near the Tate Modern, and just getting out of the house made Abram feel better, made him slowly relax and clear his head. So what if it was cold outside, the skies overcast and the wind biting coming off the Thames? He smiled a little at the look of long-suffering on Andrew’s face and shook his head. “At least we’re not running.”

“I’d hate you even more,” his friend said as they walked along the river. “So what, did you suddenly realize that you’re almost halfway through your twenties or something?”

Considering that Andrew was out with him, Abram sighed and answered. “No, just… just remembered birthdays back in Baltimore,” he admitted. “They weren’t very pleasant.”

“Ah.” Andrew was quiet for a minute or two. “So how does that work? You were born in the US, right? Doesn’t that make you an American?”

Abram laughed a little at the question. “I spent less than half my life there, you know. Mom brought me over here where we ran away.” He gestured around him as he talked. “I’ve lived most of my life in England or Europe, and an American accent would have stuck out so I just used hers while we were here.” His smile faltered as he thought about his ‘native’ country. “We weren’t even back in North America for a few months, most of it spent in Canada, before my father tracked us down. Then I moved here permanently.”

“But you do have an American accent, right?” For some reason Andrew seemed intent on that, his hazel eyes narrowed as he stared at Abram.

“Yes, though it’s been a long time since I used it,” Abram admitted.

“Huh.” Andrew stared at him for a few more seconds before he shook his head. “I feel like it’s been all a big lie, our whole relationship.”

“You’re breaking my heart.” Abram pretended to wipe away a tear, before he tried to think of something to ask Andrew; they hadn’t gotten that far in their ‘game’ when he’d realized that there were certain areas that were… sensitive to his friend. That Andrew’s time in foster care wasn’t to be brought up lightly, nor his relationship with his brother or his mother. Definitely not topics to be discussed when out like this. “So, you’ve been here for a few months now,” he brought up instead. “No boyfriend yet?” He forced himself to smile as he asked the question, despite how it bothered him for some reason. “I’m sure Ally would be happy to help out, take you around to some bars or clubs.”

There was no response for a little while, since Andrew paused to light a cigarette, eyeing Abram the entire time while Abram somehow managed to maintain what he hoped was a neutral smile. “What, you want me out of your hair or something?”

“No, I just… well, Nicky seems happy with Erik, yes? Don’t you want to be happy, too?” Abram asked.

Andrew blew out a puff of smoke toward him. “And what about you?”

“Eh?” Abram frowned at that. “What about me?” Why ask that?

“You going to start dating too?” Again, Andrew’s expression was almost one of boredom, but his eyes were a bit too intent just then, too focused.

“What?” Abram shook his head. “No, I’m not… I don’t think so.” He didn’t… the thought of doing such a thing left him feeling confused, left a weird, twisting sensation in his stomach. Especially when it was Andrew asking it.

“Why, because you have Jain?”

Just hearing that name made Abram stop walking, made him huddle in his coat as he wrapped his arms around his chest. “It’s not like that with him,” he snapped at Andrew. “It’s-“

“You’re just fuck-buddies, is that it?” Now there was something sharp to Andrew’s deep voice, something distant to his expression. “You just get together with him from time to time to scratch an itch?”

What the hell? Abram didn’t know what he wanted to do more just then, to stab Andrew or shove him in the fucking river. “You couldn’t be more wrong if you tried,” he told the bastard, his hands clenched into fists. “That has nothing to do with it!”

“Huh, that’s funny, because it seems to be that ‘fuck-buddy’ is exactly how you’d describe hooking up with a married guy for occasional sex,” Andrew said as he flicked his cigarette aside while staring at Abram. “Unless you have a better explanation? Or you Brits – quasi-Brits, whatever – have a stupid name for it I don’t know.”

Abram stared at his friend with the words he wanted to say caught in his throat – words which were a mix of insults and denials and outright rage - before he spun around and began to run, to get away from the bastard. Because he didn’t want to think about what Andrew had said just then. Didn’t want to think about Jain and what he did with the man, didn’t want to think about how a mostly innocent (was it, really?) question had set off… dammit.

He heard Andrew shout out his name and ignored it, ignored Andrew running after him in favor of just trying to outrun the American, outrun the confusion and conflict he felt inside of him. Emotions that Andrew inspired in him with such ease, even as he could also calm Abram down, could settle him and make him feel safe. The dichotomy was one more thing Abram couldn’t understand, one more new thing for him to puzzle over and try to figure out when there was already so much going on, so many new emotions.

He had to slow down when the walkway began to get crowded, as it grew more difficult to dodge the various people. Abram stuttered out an apology to someone he just barely avoided crashing into, and then was knocked into by a large man in a dark coat with a knit cap pulled low over his forehead.

“So-sorry,” he mumbled as he just barely managed to stay on his feet, and then drew in a sharp breath as his left wrist was grabbed and he was yanked backward, a twinge of pain in his arm both by the sudden pull and from the healing bullet wound.

“That’s all right, Nathaniel,” the man told him, and Abram’s eyes widened both at the American accent and upon hearing that name. He went to swing his right arm at the bastard, to lash out, but he was yanked in too fast to land more than a glancing blow and then there was pain, was so much pain shooting through him and things grew dark, grew hazy and the world faded in and out, tumbled all around him as he lost control of his body.

*******

Andrew cursed as he ran after the fucking idiot – the fucking long-legged idiot. Dammit, he just had to go and shoot off his mouth like that, didn’t he? To bring up Jain. But he’d lost it when Abram had asked him about dating, about going out to a club with Ally and finding someone like Roland. About maybe bringing some guy back to the townhouse to suck off when all Andrew would be thinking about was some fucking long-legged, too fast idiot with hidden blue eyes and suicidal impulses who was going to get punched in the head when Andrew caught up with him.

Dammit, Andrew really needed up to up his cardio or something. Still. Or fatten Abram up. _Something_ to slow the idiot down.

Then he caught sight of Abram’s grey leather jacket about fifteen feet ahead, caught him talking to some broad-shouldered guy wearing a skull-cap and – wait, Abram made to swing his arm around, his left wrist caught in the guy’s grip, Abram’s eyes wide and his expression shut down, and Andrew put on a burst of speed as he shoved people out of his way when he saw Abram all of a sudden crumple to the ground, as he saw the guy shove something small and black into the pocket of his black leather coat.

Andrew went in swinging, didn’t give the guy any chance to put up a fight; the fucker was distracted by trying to catch Abram, was saying something about Abram being drunk when Andrew caught him in the side of the head. “Get your fucking hands off of him,” Andrew snarled as he fought to push aside the rage and think, to not just react. If this was some sort of trap, he couldn't just react.

“Wha-“

“Get your hands off of my boyfriend!” Andrew shouted, counting on causing a huge scene right then to counter any chance of someone interfering, on any more Moriyama men coming up to them. “What did you do to him?” All around them, people gathering and staring, were pulling out their phones – some to make calls, some to film the scene, the fucking morons.

When he saw the guy reach into his pocket again – taser, Andrew was willing to bet, considering how Abram was sprawled out on the ground, semi-conscious – Andrew kneed him in the stomach then shoved him away. “Abram! Are you all right?” He reached down to grab his friend, right when another person had been edging through the crowd to touch Abram.

Andrew caught the furious look in the older man’s eyes as he latched onto Abram’s twitching arm and hauled his friend away from the bastard, while all around people were asking if Abram was all right and what the hell was going on. Andrew fumbled for his phone and dialed Stuart’s number, but didn’t have the time to talk, just let the background noise filter through as he managed to haul a moaning Abram upright. “National Theatre,” he shouted as he took a step back, doing his best to melt into the crowd.

The guy made to follow them, but the police finally decided to show up, and wouldn’t you know it, him and his buddy with the taser didn’t want to stick around for that, did they? The asshole grabbed skull-cap guy, still recovering from what Andrew had done to him, and shoved people aside, even knocking a couple into the Thames in their haste to get away from the police, which added to the general fuckery of the situation, while Andrew finally had a moment to tell a shouting Stuart what the hell was going on. Then he had to hang up because a police officer was getting in his face.

Funny, how saying the name ‘Hatford’ got him a bit of space and respect. The cop eyed him and a dazed Abram as if they were explosives ready to go off at any moment, and called a couple of ambulances on the scene to deal with the couple who swallowed a few cups of lovely river water as well as a few other people who got roughed up from the men escaping (Abram wasn’t the only one tased).

Of course Abram wasn’t pleased to have strangers touching him, so once he more or less had his wits about him pretty much told the poor medic to fuck off in a slurred voice. Andrew figured his friend was well on his way to recovering at that point, and they stepped away from the ambulance to find a grim-faced Stuart and Davis waiting for them.

Stuart took one look at his nephew, face bruised and scraped up from where he’d fallen onto the concrete, expression miserable and overall air one of abject misery, and saved what looked to be a withering remark to just reach out to cup the back of Abram’s head to pull him in for a gentle hug. “Don’t go scaring me like that again,” he told his nephew.

Abram managed to put up with the embrace for a few seconds before he began to tremble. “I… I’m sorry,” he said, words still a bit slurred.

Stuart let him go then glared at Andrew. “Where the fuck were you?”

Andrew figured he’d take the brunt of the man’s anger and did his best to control his temper. “Within sight.”

“That’s not fucking good enough!  You’re supposed to be at his fucking side, dammit! What good are you if-“

“It’s my fault,” Abram said, voice quiet as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “I left him,” he admitted.

It looked as if Stuart was ready to strangle his nephew just then. “You left him. You left the man who’s there to keep you alive, to keep what just happened- no, _no_.” He glared at his nephew. “Never again, Ram. I’ll fucking cuff you two together if I have to, do you understand? If I see the two of you so much as more than two meters apart in the future, I’ll do it. Shite like this happens if you’re alone!”

Abram flinched, probably at the anger in his uncle’s voice. “I’m sorry,” he repeated.

“Then promise me to stop fighting this!”

“All right,” Abram said with a weary sigh; Andrew almost felt sorry for the idiot, but Stuart had a point – if he hadn’t run off, Andrew would have been there to keep this shit from happening.

Stuart glared for a few more seconds as if to prove a point, then sighed; behind him, Davis was talking to one of the police officers. “So, who was behind this? Moriyamas? Or one of those bastards they’ve farmed out to, the Cojocaru or the new Russian assholes?”

Abram hesitated a moment, as if he knew what he said wouldn’t be well received. “No. I think… I think it was my father’s men. They were American.”

Oh, wasn’t that a fun twist? Considering the present over the holidays… so Nathan was joining in on things, wasn’t he? Andrew would need to stock up on the whiskey, he could tell.

“Fucking son of a bitch,” Stuart muttered, the words quiet but heartfelt. Then he turned toward Andrew. “Fuck two meters, if I see you so much as one meter away from him,” he stabbed his forefinger toward Abram, “I’ll shoot you myself. Do you understand that?”

“Can I hamstring your idiot nephew if he tries to run from me again?” Andrew asked.

Stuart thought about it for a few seconds. “I’d prefer that you didn’t do something so permanent,” he said, while Abram glared at him. “Go for a sprain or something. Broken bone if he’s being really annoying.”

“I hate you both,” Abram gritted out as he attempted to flash them a rude gesture, but his hands were still too shaky for it to be effective.

“Dislocated knee the first time, broken leg the second,” Andrew offered. That set off a flurry of Russian which sounded rather irate, but Andrew didn’t care since Stuart nodded in agreement.

“All right, let’s get you home,” Stuart said. When Andrew went to argue, he shook his head. “Davis will bring around your car later. Where did you park it?” After Andrew told him and handed over the ticket for it, Stuart went over to talk to the man for a minute, then returned and led them over to where a Jaguar was illegally parked yet unaffected by parking tickets or anything.

Andrew and Abram sat in the back, and despite his flash of temper earlier, Abram fell asleep about ten minutes into the drive home, slumping over until his head rested on Andrew’s shoulder. Andrew went stiff at first, then slowly relaxed; he figured the effects of being tasered had caught up to his friend and just let him be.

Stuart must have noticed when he glanced back in the rear view mirror at some point. “You know, it was bad enough, the Moriyamas being involved,” he said a bit later, his voice pitched low as if to avoid disturbing Abram. “Wesninski joining this mess? Not good.”

“I figured that out myself,” Andrew said. “But he’s just a Moriyama underling, yes?”

“Not quite.” Stuart rubbed at his face. “He reports up to Ichiro, but… him and his people, they’re dangerous. They’re nasty fucks, to put it plain and simple. Ichiro must be getting annoyed or something, to let them loose again.”

Andrew thought about that for a moment. “Maybe you’re growing too powerful.”

“Maybe. Our deal with Xue has made both of our organizations pretty rich. Maybe Ichiro figured that if he has any shot over here, he needs to knock us out now before we strengthen the alliance any more. Maybe he’s seeing how useful Ram’s gotten as something other than a fucking Exy piece of meat and wants him for that. Who knows? But the last time he unleashed Wesninski’s people here, we lost a loved one.” Stuart’s pale eyes turned to ice. “I’m not letting that happen again. We lost Henry, and we sent DiMaccio home in a body bag. This time? I want to send as many of that fucker’s people home in bags as possible and I refuse to lose any of our own.”

Andrew could get behind that, could get behind anything that hurt the Moriyamas and definitely anything that hurt Abram’s father, after seeing the scars on his friend, after seeing the lost expression in those masked blue eyes. “So what about those two bastards today?”

“Why do you think I left Davis behind? Leave some fun to the rest of us,” Stuart told him. “Your job is Ram.”

Annoying… but Andrew had a feeling that he would get his turn at Wesninski’s people in the future.

The rest of the drive back to the townhouse was quiet, and when Stuart reached the place and used the code to open the garage door, Andrew was left with waking up Abram. He hesitated for a moment, mindful of how he reacted when disturbed from sleeping, and settled for shrugging his shoulder. It took a few tries, which he put down to Abram being tased, and then the man more or less jolted awake – he recoiled a bit away from Andrew, body uncoordinated to the point that Andrew had to grab him to keep him from slamming into the seat in front of them.

“Eh?”

“We’re home,” Andrew explained as Abram blinked hard enough to dislodge one of his contacts and didn’t even notice it. When his friend stared at him with one grey eye and one a startling blue, he sighed and flung open the car door then more or less hauled Abram out of the vehicle – and noticed how Abram allowed the manhandling.

Stuart noticed it as well, and frowned when he caught sight of his nephew’s mismatched eyes. “Get him to bed, all right? _Alone_ ,” he stressed for some reason.

Andrew glared at him for that. “We have our own bedrooms.”

“You’re both fucking idiots,” the man muttered as he slipped back into the Jaguar.

Was Andrew allowed to break that bastard’s leg? Really? Was it so much to ask? Instead, he focused on getting a woozy Abram into the lift and to the floor with his own bedroom, a floor Andrew barely was on for obvious reasons.

“I hate my birthday,” Abram murmured as Andrew dumped him on his bed. “Never any good.”

“I can see that,” Andrew remarked as he tugged off the man’s sneakers then helped him to shed the rather roughed up leather coat. “You going to be able to take off everything else?” Please let him say ‘yes’, because Andrew was at the point that he didn't care if the idiot spent the night sleeping uncomfortable in fully clothed or not, he didn't want to be stuck with the mental image of Abram stripped down to boxer shorts or whatever. He already was plagued with way too many visions of the man as it was with most of his clothes on.

Abram stared at him for a moment then looked down at himself. “Oh, clothes. Yeah.” A hint of pink colored his cheeks.

“I don’t even fucking care at this point,” Andrew declared, deciding he'd reached his limit. “Though if you try to go running tomorrow, I am dislocating your knee.” He’d had enough of running at the moment, too.

“Wanna sleep.” Since Abram was starting to pull his long-sleeved t-shirt over his head around then, Andrew decided that he’d been a good enough friend/bodyguard/whatever and left. Abram was a grown man and could take care of himself. Mostly.

It was time for some serious whiskey.

Andrew fetched his phone out of his pocket and checked the messages on it, told Jamie to go bother Stuart for an update on her precious cousin, ignored Nicky’s messages because no way was he dealing with his cousin just then, and answered Renee’s latest with ‘so fucking jumped ahead of the sainthood queue in front of you’. Then regretted that moment of weakness since he knew she’d ask him about it, but figured he could pass it off as not giving in to the temptation of killing someone. Rather than not stripping an out of it Abram mostly naked and… not going there.

Why had it felt so good when Abram had fallen asleep on him?

It was just hormones, dammit. Just a case of frustration and lust and… dammit.

Andrew gave up on pouring whiskey in the glass and took the entire bottle up with him to his room, figuring that he’d need it. He didn’t think Abram was going to get up any time soon, and considering the whole tasing thing, he had hopes that they’d be skipping the morning workout.

Maybe he did need his own fuck-buddy or something. A night out clubbing where he could relieve some stress and frustration and… yeah, not going to work. But he couldn’t keep pining over someone who was so out of reach, was a fucking pipedream with those eyes and that body and…. Andrew took a long swig of whiskey. Why had Abram freaked out and run like that? Because he hadn’t liked Andrew throwing Jain in his face? But he was the one fucking the man out of some sense of obligation.

The whole situation was fucked up, and Andrew didn’t see it getting better any time soon. He also didn’t see a clear way out of things, unfortunately. Each day seemed to bind him and Abram tighter and tighter together, until he had to wonder what became their breaking point.

Or worse, there was no breaking point.

*******

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again, my so messed up boys. A bit of a darker chapter (eeeh? maybe? maybe not?). 
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!
> 
> *******


	7. Emergency

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Update! OMFG, the last two weeks... yeah, insane. BUT, things should be getting back to normal now! (well, work will be busy, but on the personal front, normalcy! Or something like that...)
> 
> More importantly, time to write again! YAY!!!! So, chapter update! I ALMOST waited until Wednesday to post this to get back to some sort of update schedule... but yeah, it's been long enough. New Armies, now to get back to WDWG (hoping maybe have something by the weekend, but we'll see. No promises).
> 
> Hmm... this chapter. Eek. Try not to hate me too much.  
> *******

 

*******

His body one very strident ache, Abram struggled to wake up from a familiar nightmare of hands holding him down. As he struggled to breathe, to remember where he was, memory began to trickle back in, bits and pieces of the day before. Of it being his birthday. Of going out with Andrew, of the questions about Jain. About running away, being unwilling to talk about the man, about - about running away. The American. The American and the damn taser. Oh how Abram hated tasers. Then pain and hands and Andrew being there, the shouting and oddly enough, being safe. Then Uncle Stuart.

More shouting. Abram winced as he attempted to sit up, and not just from the pain of his protesting muscles. Nothing like your entire body seizing up, yeah. Still, as birthday presents from his father went... he'd gotten off lightly. He'd say that Nathan Wesninski was mellowing in his old age, but Abram knew better.

It took him several very unfortunate minutes to get out of bed, and he only did it because he had to go to the bathroom. Along the way, he shed the dirty clothes he'd been wearing the day before, grateful he hadn't dressed up before going out, and after relieving himself, managed to stumble into the shower where he stood beneath water as hot as he could bear it for a very long time. The heat helped a bit, helped to loosen up stiff muscle, but oh was it going to be a _wonderful_ day. Andrew would be pleased - Abram doubted that he'd be able to manage more than shuffling about, let alone jogging up and down the driveway.

As much as he didn't want to, he did shave the faint stubble on his face rather than risk Andrew asking about the hint of auburn; he knew his friend had seen the real color of his eyes and had figured out that he dyed his hair, but it... too much, lately. He didn't need for Andrew to know the last little bit. Didn't need to _know_ that Andrew had figured out the last little bit.  Even if it was a lost cause. Even if it just kept Abram from looking in the mirror and seeing that much more of a reminder of his father at the moment.

That done, he left his hair damp and pulled on the oldest, softest, loosest clothes that he had before shuffling over to the lift, unwilling to deal with the steps at the moment. Part of him wanted to just curl up back in the bed, but he'd feel better if he kept moving. Too many years of living on the run, of being the target of someone's abuse for him not to know the drill of how best to recover.

He found Andrew sitting at the kitchen island, nursing a cup of coffee and what looked to be some sort of pastry. His friend eyed him up and down before getting up for some more coffee. "Bren dropped off some food. It's in the fridge."

"Lovely." Abram wasn't sure he was up to anything that heavy at the moment, so he went over to the counter for the electric kettle to put on the water for tea, then grabbed some bread for toast. "Any news?"

"Davis has a lead on the two guys from yesterday, but, and I quote, we're 'to sit the fuck down and stay out of trouble'." Andrew didn't sound very pleased about that. However, Abram wasn't too surprised to hear it; his family had learned the hard way not to mess around when it came to Wesninski's people.

"I imagine that we won't be going out of town for a while," Abram warned him. "Better stock up on the reading material." He tried to make light of it, but the thought of his father's people being in town, of how close he'd come to ending up in their hands....

He didn't realize that he was splashing water everywhere until there was a warm touch to the back of his neck and Andrew was taking the kettle from him. "Why the hell are you even out of bed?"

Abram felt torn between jerking away from Andrew's touch and stilling at it; for so long, someone touching him was to be avoided or was to be put up with for the sake of his family. Even before those days in that awful apartment, touch had been a harsh, frantic thing, had been his mother grabbing and latching on to him for a desperate reassurance, had been harsh cuffs and hair pulls except when she held on to him at night. So to feel Andrew's hands on him, so light yet reassuring, with no expectation... Abram didn't know what to feel, half the time. It explained his uncertainty, but not that odd feeling welling up inside of him that made him want to slump in Andrew's direction and... and... _what_?

"Well?"

Oh, Andrew had spoken, hadn't he?

Abram shook his head, which made that hand fall from his neck; he told himself that he wasn't disappointed, dammit. "Ah, it'll just be worse if I don't move around," he argued, and watched on as Andrew took the kettle away from him with a hint of disapproval. "Better to move around a little."

"I wasn't kidding about dislocating your knee if you tried to run today," Andrew said, his tone a tad surly. "Just sit down or whatever." As Abram shuffled over to one of the stools, Andrew called out. "Are you going to eat?"

"Uhm, toast. If you would." Abram rubbed at his face. "Not... nothing too heavy."

Andrew picked up the bread and put a couple of slices in the toaster, once the water was boiling. "Jamie and Stuart have already called to check up on you." He didn't appear happy about that. "Should have turned my damn phone off. They do know that technically you're a functioning adult." The look he gave Abram over his shoulder was just short of withering. "Technically."

"Sorry to disturb you so," Abram muttered as he managed to hitch a hip up onto the stool. Oh yeah, that hurt. "How much did that fancy car cost again? And that long waiting list for it?"

Andrew stared at the toaster as if he was debating to mess with the settings, but didn't burn Abram's toast in the end. "Bren better bring a case of whisky next time."

"I've a feeling we'll need something," Abram admitted as he rubbed his left hip, where the taser had hit. "Off to such a lovely start of the year, we are."

Andrew was quiet as he dumped some tea leaves into the pot (too much, really, but Abram didn't care at that point), fetched the toast and buttered it, poured the hot water into the pot, dropped the toast in front of a bemused Abram, then went for the bottle of Baileys so he could add about half of it to a large mug while the tea steeped. Again, Abram didn't complain, he just nibbled on the toast while he waited for his tea, attention focused on his rather unusual and surly nursemaid, who eventually returned to the island with a mug of doctored tea in one hand and mug of Irish coffee in the other.

"So your father, he never cared for you at all?"

Abram wasn't certain if they were playing their game or not, or if Andrew was just looking for necessary information. "No," he confessed as he set aside the half-finished piece of toast and picked up his tea. "As far as I could tell, I was just property to him." He closed his eyes while he had several swallows of the beverage, the temperature helped by the Baileys. "Just another item he owned, that was part of his household for him to do whatever he wanted with," he continued after a long pause. "I would hear other kids talk about their fathers, about how they would hug them and be nice to them... I never understood it. Mine was just someone to obey, to avoid as much as possible because nothing ever good came out of being near him."

Sitting silently across from him, Andrew's attention appeared focused into his mug of coffee for a few seconds, until he lifted it to drink for a couple of seconds. Then he set it down, and his right fingers trailed along the inside of his left arm for a bit while he looked over at Abram. "Sounds like a lovely fellow. Sounds a little familiar, in fact. I can see why he found it so easy to hand you over to the Moriyamas, I just don't understand how your mother ever ended up with him in the first place and why it took so long for her to get you out of there."

"I don't know that, either." Abram shrugged before he had more tea himself. "Uncle Stuart never really explained it to me, and she certainly didn't tell me why." No, his mother never wanted to talk about the past or much of anything, other than where they were going the next day, what their next move would be and what Abram had done wrong, how he might have put them at risk by talking to the wrong person, slipping up with his alias and so forth. "Maybe he'd known right from the start that he'd have to hand me over."

"Maybe." Andrew continued to stare at him from across the table, his expression almost bored except for the sharp gleam in his eyes. "But he's not getting you. Him or the Moriyamas."

Abram's hands tightened around the mug. "I don't want this to get bloody. I don't want more people dying over me, dammit."

Andrew was quiet as he came over to pick up Abram's mug to refill it. "Let me make this perfectly clear to you, since that taser seemed to addle what little brains you have." He was glared at for that comment, not that he seemed to care. "This isn't about you - not really," he insisted, voice growing louder to cut over Abram's denial. "This is about your father's and the Moriyamas' foolish pride. They did something extremely stupid, did something they never should have done if they had any idea about who they were dealing with, and now that their noses were smacked and they're crying about their stupid pride, they don't have the sense to just cut their losses and go home. They never do." Scorn colored Andrew's deep voice as he added another heavy dose of Baileys’ to Abram's mug before pouring in the tea. "They already have more than enough money and resources, but they're greedy fucks. And they're getting what they deserve by taking on your family," he told Abram as he handed over the refilled mug.

"Yes, but does my family deserve the losses they're accumulating while fighting back?"

"Your family knows the risks of this business, and they knew what they were getting into when your mother married Nathan Wesninski," Andrew argued. "It seems to me that you're the only real innocent person in this whole damn mess."

"But-"

"No fucking _buts_ ," Andrew said, his voice low and determined. "What did I say about you taking on the weight of the world? Stop it, it's damn annoying."

"I just think... I think that things would be better if-" Abram blinked when he got drops of what smelled to be spiked coffee flicked in his face.

"Keep it up and it'll be the rest of the mug," Andrew warned. "I'm getting sick of listening to this shit. With Kevin it was that nobody could beat the Moriyamas when he didn't even give it a damn try. Now you're sitting there blaming yourself for shit you didn't even have any say in."

Abram used the cuff of his long-sleeved t-shirt to wipe at his face. "I could always just gi-" He sputtered when more whisky-laced coffee was splashed on his face, missing his eyes at least but only because of his hair. "Dammit!"

"I warned you," Andrew said as he glared at what had to be his mostly empty mug. "That was a waste."

"You are an utter-"

Andrew got up to shove Abram back down on his stool. "I'm the person who is keeping you alive and from doing something stupid." Despite his even tone, there was a spark of anger to those hazel eyes of his, and his hand lingered on Abram's left shoulder. "Which means I'm not allowing that foolish martyr mindset anymore. Do you ever think that those bastards keep sniping at you in hopes that you'll do something stupid like just give in? Either that or pull another runner and leave behind all this protection?"

"I...." Abram drew in a deep, shuddering breath as he pushed back his dripping hair. "I don't want to talk about this anymore." Because his friend was hitting a bit too close to uncomfortable things at the moment. Because he would rather think about things other than his father.

"Because I'm right?"

"Because I don't want more coffee thrown in my face," he snapped. "Have you ever heard of third degree burns, you prat?"

"Please, as if I'd put up with your whiney ass by doing something like that," Andrew complained as he went over to pick up a towel, which he tossed at Abram. "I'm serious, stop being your own worst enemy about this shit."

“Like I’m doing it for the hell of it,” Abram nearly shouted while he mopped at his wet hair.

“No, you’re doing it because your idiot family has let you get away with it for too damn long,” Andrew told him as he went to grab what remained of the coffee. “It’s habit for you. Fuck, for all I know your mother told you that you were running away because of you, rather than the fact that she messed up by marrying a psycho and not killing him the moment he laid a hand on you.”

Abram gazed at his friend in shock. “What the hell? How is it all her fault?”

Andrew gave Abram a cold look as he set the empty pot down on the counter, then his mug. “Because if she was worth anything as a mother and a person, it’s what she should have done. She should have killed that bastard the first time he hurt you.”

That was impossible, for Abram’s mother to take on his father like that, for her to risk such a thing when all alone. “You don’t know what you’re talking about,” he told his friend.

“Don’t I?” Andrew stared at Abram for a few seconds before producing a derisive snort then began adding his usual overabundance of milk and sugar to his coffee – and that was before the couple of shots of whisky. “It’s what I did to my own mother when I found her abusing my dear twin brother.”

“What the? Your mother?” Abram dropped the damn towel and decided he could deal with damp and sticky hair at the moment, in favor of picking up his mug so he could finish off the rest of his ‘special’ tea. Then he hopped off the stool, body protesting the jarring motion, and shuffled over to the counter as quickly as possible for a refill. “You killed your mother. Your abusive mother.” Maybe they were playing their game after all.

“Apparently, Aaron had goaded our uncle into tracking me down in California because he was getting sick of our ‘dear’ mother using him as a punching bag,” Andrew explained as he watched Abram pour out the last of the tea from the pot. “He had hoped that having me around would make things better.” Something twisted Andrew’s face just then, made Abram nearly drop the pot since he didn’t like that expression, but it was gone before Abram could figure it out. “However, he didn’t seem to care for my methods of resolving the issue, either. Some people, you just can’t please them.” The words were spoken without any inflection, but Abram could tell that the matter still bothered his friend to that day.

Waiting until he added the Baileys to the tea and could have another sip before speaking, Abram leaned against the counter for support. “You killed your mother for your brother, because she was abusing him.” He wanted to be certain that he was following along and it wasn’t some weird after-effect of either the tasing or the alcohol.

“Yes,” Andrew agreed.

“And you think my mother should have killed my father for abusing me.”

“Yes.”

He closed his eyes and sighed; dammit, it seemed as if he wasn’t imagining things. “He was always surrounded by people looking out for him, you know. I don’t think… I don’t think they even slept together, after I was born. He had… other women for that.”

Andrew just shrugged. “The rest of your family seems very determined and inventive. Well, except for Ally.”

Abram finished off his tea, the alcohol starting to give him a faint buzz, thankfully. “Let’s just agree to disagree on this, all right?” When Andrew frowned upon hearing that, Abram shook his head and set the mug aside. “No, on that she could have done such a thing, all right? You weren’t there, you don’t know how they were always watching us, how….” He let out a trembling breath as his left arm wrapped around his abdomen. “There’s a reason why I don’t like to be babysat, okay?”

“No one is that all powerful,” Andrew said after about a minute’s silence. “Don’t let the twisted memories of your childhood shadow your entire life.”

For a moment, Abram wanted to laugh. He wanted to laugh and ask Andrew if it really was that easy – and if it was, why didn’t the American do something like embrace Bren when the man walked through the door next time, or some random stranger. ‘Twisted memories’, eh, Abram thought as he could feel the scar tissue of one of the little ‘gifts’ his father had bestowed upon him through his shirt.

Still, despite the bitter humor, he knew what Andrew meant. Knew part of his mind had feared his father for so long that he probably had built up the man somewhat over the years. It didn’t mean that Nathan Wesninski wasn’t a monster, wasn’t to be feared… but the man wasn’t infallible. Wasn’t without flaw. Abram would just prefer not being close enough to find the chinks in the bastard’s armor.

“If no one is all powerful, what does that make you, hmm?” he asked as he picked at his now tangled hair. “How do you propose to stand up to my father and the Moriyamas?”

Andrew leaned in close enough for Abram to feel the man’s body warmth, to smell the coffee on his breath. “I don’t have to be all powerful – I just have to be more powerful than a bunch of sick fucks who’ve become overconfident.”

Why was it that Abram didn’t feel uncomfortable anymore with this closeness? “Just as long as you’re not the one becoming overconfident,” he said before he forced himself to move. “And no more throwing coffee, dammit. I’m off to clean up.” Maybe a long soak would help with his sore muscles.

“If you fall asleep and drown, I’ll let Ally come over to identify the body,” Andrew warned.

Abram didn’t have any energy at the moment for verbal sparring, so he just gave the bastard the finger as he more or less walked back to the lift.

Once back in his bathroom, Abram shed his clothes for the second time that day, started the water running in the large tub and set his arm bands off to the side as he lowered his sore body into the slowly rising hot water, groaning the entire time. He slipped beneath it to help rinse out his hair, enjoying the sensation of being immersed, of being cut off from the world, and stayed under as long as he could until his lungs demanded air. Then he pushed back the wet hair covering his face and rested against the cool marble of the tub while the water continued to creep up his chest.

Why did Andrew care so much? Just to be contrary? Because the Moriyamas had 'won' before when he'd tried to keep Kevin out of their hands? Because the damn car and suits mattered that much to him?

Somehow that last didn't seem to be the case - Abram doubted it came down to money for someone like Andrew. So what was his friend's motivation in all of this? To risk his life for someone who wasn't family?

Dammit, Abram spent way too much time trying to figure out the other man when there were things to do, stuff to focus upon and all. When he had work to finish. For someone who did a decent job of keeping to himself... Andrew had become a huge intrusion in Abram's life. In his thoughts.

He stopped the water when it lapped at the bottom of his chin, then slumped down a little more in the tub. Why were things so complicated?

And why was he obsessing over this? Abram tugged on a lock of hair as he forced his thoughts away from Andrew, as he focused on the translations that Zhou wanted from him, on who to recommend to handle some of the translating work since it was most likely that he wouldn't be leaving London any time soon. He went through a few suitable candidates while the heat soaked into his muscles, while the alcohol helped to make him feel sleepy and content, his fingers trailing along the scars that marred his chest and stomach.

When he reached the tender spots on his left hip, he was once again thinking about what had happened the day before, about his father's men tracking him down, about what might have occurred if they had managed to take him away. Would they have been ordered to turn him over to the Moriyamas directly, or would his father want some time with him first? Would there be more 'corrective action' administered? More scars added to the too many already littering Abram's skin? It was odd to think that he might actually wish to end up in the Moriyamas' hands, at least as an alternative to returning to Baltimore.

But it hadn't happened, all because Andrew had kept his word, had been there in time to protect Abram. As much as that fact stung, Abram had to admit he was grateful for it despite how easily he had been taken down, how he had allowed himself to be distracted. How he hadn't been able to do anything to defend himself, how everything had been left up to Andrew in the end.

Abram frowned as he thought about the situation, how Andrew had snatched him from the Americans, had managed to turn the crowd against Abram's attackers. He'd shouted something, had.... Abram groaned as he sunk down beneath the water again for a few seconds.

'Boyfriend'. What the hell...?

Part of him knew that Andrew had just seized upon something that would turn the crowd around them in his favor, that would explain his concern for Abram - it was better than 'the idiot I'm paid to protect'. But really?

Why did that one word bother him so much? It wasn’t even like it should matter to him, as if he’d ever had a boyfriend before or would ever consider one. He didn’t see the logic in it, to be honest – he’d never felt any sort of attraction to anyone before so there was no point to it. Jain was just… something to endure. And other than Jain and the Popescu- well, it wasn’t as if Abram had that many people interested in him. There had been a couple of girls back when he’d been on the run with his mother who’d flirted a little, one had even kissed him, but his mother had always grabbed him and pulled him away before much could happen, had hit him and yelled at him afterwards to make him stop looking at and talking to them.

It was so much better to not have anyone involved in his life, considering what it was. Considering what he did and who he had coming after him. It was better to be alone.

He didn’t understand the impulse to have someone like that in his life. It was enough to have Andrew, to have the man there every day, so determined to watch after him, to protect him.

Abram stayed in the tub until the water turned cool and then forced himself out, to dry off and pull on yet another set of clothes. He curled up on his bed with his laptop and worked for a while, until hunger drove him back downstairs for something to eat, more take-away left by Bren (he didn’t feel up to trying to cook anything).

Andrew seemed willing to leave him alone, which was fine by Abram; he didn’t need any more uncomfortable questions or conversations, or more coffee thrown at him. After eating some spicy noodles, he took a pot of doctored tea back to his room and lost himself to some more translation work, before finally giving up and going to bed for the night.

He felt a bit better the next day, but decided to stick to the treadmill, mindful of the agreement that Andrew had worked out with Uncle Stuart as well as that there might still be at least two of his father’s men roaming around. He got in a decent run and had showered off by the time Andrew woke up, so was in the process of making cheese omelets (they might not look very good, but they at least tasted all right) when the grumpy bastard stumbled into the kitchen for his caffeine fix.

It was a quiet start to the day, with Andrew paying more attention to his cell phone than Abram while eating his breakfast, and Abram busy cleaning up the mess he’d made while cooking once he ate. He worked in the kitchen once that was done, Andrew busy doing his own exercises, and so things seemed to return a bit to normal at last. Well, except for the fact that they were staying indoors as if locked down.

Bren frowned when he dropped off some pasta for them later that night. “You two are awfully quiet. You’re not going to do something stupid, are you?”

“Define stupid,” Andrew remarked as he rummaged through the bags and made sure to grab the box that had all of the garlic bread, the bastard. “You mean like go running off on their own when they know there’s a major criminal organization hot for their ass?”

Abram gave his ‘friend’ the finger. “You mean like kill one’s roommate?”

“I’d like to see you try,” Andrew said with a slight sneer.

“Longer reach and better speed,” Abram argued.

“By like two damn inches,” Andrew shot back. “And I can crush your wrist – too much cardio, you damn rabbit.”

“Still won’t do you a damn bit of good if you’re bleeding out,” Abram said as he grabbed his gnocchi. “I’ll still win.”

“That’s assuming you land a hit in the first place.” Andrew made sure to keep the box of garlic bread near him, clearly unwilling to give it up.

Meanwhile, Bren just looked back and forth between them and shook his head. “The two of you… yeah, okay. Fucked up much?”

“What else is new?” Andrew asked as he carried both of his boxes of take-away over to where the silverware was, rather than allow Abram a chance at the damn bread. “Any news on the assholes?”

“And the topic of potential homicide carries on.” Bren rolled his eyes, but there was a smile on his lips now. “One of them fucked up, left a credit trail for Jason to follow.”

Abram frowned as he selected a bottle of red wine. “Are you certain that it’s not a trap?”

“It wasn’t that easy, but yeah, the crumbs were there. Jamie said she’d personally burn whatever’s left if anyone falls for these pricks’ little games, so we’re all being careful,” Bren assured him.

Abram paused in uncorking the wine to stare at the enforcer. “That’s if there’s anything left. Keep that in mind.”

Bren held his gaze for a few seconds then winced. “Yeah, we know the deal and we’re not rushing into anything.”

There was no point in saying much more, was there? Everyone knew about Henry, and somehow Abram doubted that Stuart and Jamie were allowing their people out there without giving them a good earful – and the same went for Uncle Will.

“Any day for the wine,” Andrew complained, and Abram was about to throw the cork at the bastard when he caught the bland look on his friend’s face.

“Are you really going to eat all that bread yourself?”

“What bread?”

Abram just sighed and made sure to guard his damn gnocchi from the glutton. That and made a mental note to have Bren order more garlic bread next time….

Abram was smirking just a little the next morning when Andrew came out of the exercise room covered with sweat and red in the face from spending some time on the treadmill and in desperate need of some water (Abram just barely, _barely_ , resisted the urge to tell the bastard to have some more carbs). He somehow managed to school his expression into something more blank when there was the text alerting them that someone was about to enter the townhouse, which gave Abram time to save his work and Andrew to go change into some dry clothes before Davis arrived.

The man appeared tired, with dark circles beneath his brown eyes and hair greasy and limp against his scalp, his suit a bit rumpled even. “Oh good, you haven’t killed each other yet.”

“Been talking to Bren?” Abram asked as he went to fetch a mug of coffee for the man.

Either the coffee or the question earned him a slight smile from Davis. “He thinks you’re spending too much time together – something about being like an old married couple.” When Abram blinked at that and Andrew’s thick blond brows drew together, Davis laughed. “Can totally see it.”

“And I can see exactly where we’re going to bury your body out back,” Andrew said in a much too-flat tone of voice. “Why are you here?”

Davis appeared surprised at the threat for a moment, then chuckled, the sound nervous. “Ah, yeah, that.” He had a bit of coffee before he set the mug down on the counter. “Get dressed, because Jamie wants you – we found the men.”

Abram stilled at the news, while Andrew was at his side in a moment, his hand warm on Abram’s neck; once again, the touch helped to center Abram, helped to… he didn’t even know the emotions that had filled him just then, he just knew that he was calm now. “Is that wise?” Andrew asked, a note of anger to his deep voice.

“It’s not a trap, we’ve made sure of it,” Davis said, all traces of nervousness and humor gone from his demeanor. “Jamie wants to see how they react to Abram being there, so get dressed.”

Andrew’s fingers tightened on Abram’s nape for a moment, and then he gave Abram a shove. “I’ll be ready in ten.”

“Give me five,” Abram told Davis as he headed for the stairs, just needing to change his clothes.

“Fine, I’ll be here.” Davis waved them off as he went over to refill his mug.

It didn’t take long Abram long to get dressed in his suit; he found some comfort in pulling on the expensive clothes after the last few days spent ‘lounging around’, and was surprised when it didn’t take Andrew that much longer to join them. Hmm, someone wasn’t eager, was he?

It was a quiet drive to one of the family’s spare warehouses, where Uncle Stuart, Jamie and Liz were waiting for them, along with a few other enforcers. Along with the two men Abram barely remembered from the other day – the large guy with the broad face and an older one he’d just gotten a glimpse of while Andrew had held onto him.

They didn’t look so intimidating now, not while tied up and beaten, their faces swollen and bleeding. Yet Abram noticed how their eyes tracked his approach, how the older man’s fists clenched as if he hoped to break free at any moment.

“Look’it you now, J’nior,” the man slurred, then coughed when Liz hit him in the stomach.

“No, let him speak,” Abram said, mindful to stay well out of reach and not to show any reaction to the hateful nickname. “That’s why I’m here, yes?”

Jamie gave him a long look while Andrew stood at his back, a little closer than usual. “Well, we thought you might want to know we caught these pricks, but yeah, let’s hear what they have to say before we send them back to Wesninski in pieces.”

The older man grinned at that, as much as his battered mouth could. “Tryin’ hard to be a tough bitch. No’ at all like your aunt.  Even though Mary got it in the end.”

Abram tensed at mention of his mother even as he motioned Liz away from the man. “Not like you were there for that,” he told the man. “I was. I saw how many she took down.  She’d have no problem with a fuck-up like you.”

The man managed a weak sneer. “Wha’ about you? Had to be saved by your _boyfriend_. Nathan’s not gonna be happy with you, J’nior.”

Abram was quiet for a moment before he smiled, the expression cruel. “As if I care what _Nathan_ thinks.” Then he dared to lean back against Andrew, just a little. “And you should be thankful you failed here, yes?” He was a bit surprised when Andrew allowed the contact. “That you fucked up enough to be caught, because if he found about what happened and got his hands on you? I know very well how much he hates being disappointed.”

The younger man twisted about, his expression closed off but the older one just glared at Abram. “Such a shitty dis’pointment you are to him, you fag. Jus’ give up now an’ save everyone the pain.”

When Abram started forward, Andrew reached out to give his shoulder a gentle squeeze as if to remind him to stay in control and Jamie stirred as well. Yet all he did was give a quick shake of his head and shove his hands into the pockets of his coat. “It’s so amusing, you thinking I give a damn about what that man thinks. And that anything you say matters, when you’re going to be dead soon enough.” His smile strengthened, and he noticed how the younger man attempted to shut down some more; he would be the one that Liz and Davis would focus on now.

Abram wanted to be the one to finish with the men, to pull out his knives and cut deep, to return some of the pain that his father and his father’s people had inflicted upon him, his mother and his mother’s family over the years. But if he pulled out his hands and went for his weapons he knew he’d never stop, that there was no way to share that pain with just these two people before him. That if he got going he’d fall into too deep a hole. He knew that… yet he so desperately wanted to take that step forward, had even begun to pull his hands out of his pockets when Andrew once more grasped him by the back of his neck and gave it a light squeeze.

“Why don’t you leave this to me and Liz, _babe_ ,” Andrew said, and only someone who knew him could pick up the sardonic edge to his voice just then. “I’ve been a bit bored lately.”

Startled for just a moment, Abram decided to play along; off to the side, Jamie was smiling while Uncle Stuart looked as if he’d just swallowed his tongue. “Sure, don’t say I don’t do anything for you.” He kept his hands in his pocket as he stepped aside. “I’d say give my regards to my father… but, well, you won’t be able to say anything to him in person,” he told the two men.

Meanwhile, Liz stepped forward with a pleased smile on her face. “Oh, I’m so going to have fun with the two of you, bless my little dyke heart, oh yes.”

The younger man began to curse, while the older still glared at Abram. “Longer you drag this out, J’nior, more he’s gonna hafta break you! Go back now or-“ he screamed when Andrew did something to him with a knife.

“So boring,” Andrew said in a monotone voice. “And here I thought you would actually have something of interest to say.”

“I know,” Liz agreed. “So, want to try that burn theory of mine?”

Andrew tilted his head to the side as he seemed to consider it. “Why not – like I said, it’s been boring lately.”

“And on that note,” Jamie drawled as she grabbed Abram by the arm and led him away, just as the younger American started babbling. “Gawd, hate the stench of burning flesh.”

Abram wasn’t a fan of it himself, so he gladly went along; Davis remained with Liz and Andrew, but Uncle Stuart tagged along. “Do you think they’ll find out much of anything?”

“We’re hoping that the kid will give up how they knew where you were without anyone picking up on it,” Stuart explained. “Find out if we’ve any moles left and that.”

“And how they were going to get you either out of the country or to the Moriyamas,” Jamie added as she reached into what looked to be an empty filing cabinet to pull out a bottle of gin and some plastic cups. “Any information will be helpful at this point – including why Wesninski has a hard on for you all of a sudden.”

“Well, it has been almost fifteen years.” Abram sighed as he looked into his rather full cup of gin. “Maybe he feels it’s overdue, reining in his wayward offspring.”

“Or maybe there’s something going on in the Moriyama empire, a weakness we can exploit,” Jamie argued. “They need you to take over things here to help bolster areas that are faltering.”

That startled a weak laugh out of Abram, prompting him to drain a good bit of the gin. “Oh yes, because it’s going to be so easy – just grab me, rough me up a bit to convince me to go along with their plans, and then have everyone here follow along when they know I’m a Moriyama puppet.” What the hell was his father and Ichiro thinking? He would rather die than end up in his father’s or the Moriyamas’ hands, and after the last attempt to break him…. He drained the rest of the gin. It wasn’t impossible, to drive him to that point. No, not at all. But yes, he would do everything he could to ensure that he did indeed die before it happened.

Abram sat there drinking gin while Jamie and Stuart changed the topic and talked about possible moles and ways to check if the Moriyama investments were slipping. Maybe Xue would know something… but it might mean that Abram would have to deal with Jain. However, if it meant the answers they needed, he could put up with things for a few hours, with the touches and-

More gin.

Jamie had cut him off and made him eat some sandwiches that Jason had dropped off when Andrew and Liz slipped into the office, both of them appearing as if they’d just come out of the shower and dressed in clean clothes that someone must have fetched for them. “Well?” Jamie asked as she motioned to the leftover sandwiches.

Andrew gave Abram an assessing look while he went over to grab some, while Liz answered the question. “The younger Yank cracked all right. Seems Ichiro is getting antsy – Tetsuji’s health is fading and he’s not too sure that Riko should take over Evermore. Yet things aren’t as firmed up in his little empire as he’d like, not with us blocking him out of Europe and Xue proving to be such a strong challenge, and Wesninski isn’t getting any younger. So at best, he’d like to push forward as much as he can while he can still count on his uncle, gain some new ground in case he needs to make some cuts.” Liz paused for a moment to grab one of the remaining sandwiches while Andrew settled next to Abram and ate the couple that he’d picked up. “At worst, he’s making it an audition of sorts – putting out there that whoever can bring in Abram or take down Will has a good chance of being the next Butcher or Master.”

Abram stared off at the file drawer where Jamie had stashed the remaining gin, while Andrew paused in his decimation of the sandwiches. “Verdict wasn’t clear on if Riko knows what his brother is doing, but if he does… there’s the potential for it to get nasty,” Andrew offered up. “Psycho will do anything for attention from the main branch, and he won’t take it well if he thinks he’s about to shuffled aside.”

“Just what we fucking need,” Stuart complained. “I can’t see that bastard Wesninski accepting his retirement very well, either.”

Jamie sat still for a moment then picked up her phone. “No, it’s not good, but it means that there’s emotions involved, which means that there’s a good chance for people to fuck up and get sloppy. I much prefer it when people are desperate and angry, because that means they have buttons to push and exploit.” She held the phone in her right hand while she looked over at Abram and Andrew. “I know you got the speech already, but you’ll get it again and again, especially if I think either of you are slipping. Be careful. Stick together. Don’t leave either the Moriyamas or Wesninski any openings.”

“Do you honestly expect me to just stay at home? Like that’s going to do any good once they figure out I’m a sitting target?” Abram complained, the little bit of a remaining buzz leaving him uncaring about pissing off his cousin.

“No, but I’d rather you have most of the family’s resources around you than have you gallivanting across France or Germany,” she argued. “I’ll find some jobs for the two of you to do.”

“I’ll need more suits,” Andrew remarked as he tossed a bite of the sandwich in his mouth. “Been going through a lot of them lately.”

“Because you’re so _bored_ ,” Abram told him in a rather snide tone of voice.

“Because someone has all these interesting people coming to us to play,” Andrew shot back. “Don’t be grumpy because you couldn’t join in the fun _, babe_.”

“And ruin your-“

“Enough,” Uncle Stuart insisted as he smacked his hands onto the old desk. “Fucking children, you are.”

Abram rubbed at his aching forehead and wondered if he should have had that last shot of gin. “Can we go now?”

“Yes, we got what we needed for the day,” Jamie said, then leaned over to give his right hand a quick squeeze. “Watch yourself, little cousin. Don’t leave an opening for those bastards.”

“I won’t,” he assured her. “Andrew won’t let me.” Despite the snappish tone, there was a real smile on his face just then.

“Damn right I won’t. I’m not suffering through living with him for someone else to get him,” Andrew griped as he finished eating then stood up. Taking that as his cue, Abram did the same.

“Might want to go out the back way,” Liz warned. “Davis and the others should be prepping those Yanks to be sent back.”

“Lovely.” Abram sighed and motioned for Andrew to go out the far door. “Have fun with that,” he told the others as they left.

One of the other enforcers – Mariela – drove them back to the townhouse, where Abram put on a pot of tea, just tea, to help him sober up. Andrew fetched a packet of biscuits to munch on while a pot of coffee brewed, and after a couple spoke up.

“So, your father.”

“Yes, wonderful man,” Abram said with a heavy dose of sarcasm.

Andrew scoffed at that. “One can tell. He have a thing about homosexuals?”

Abram shrugged as he added hot water to the teapot. “Honestly? I don’t know.” He frowned as he set the kettle aside. “He hated it when I didn’t live up to his expectations. He hated snitches. He hated people who let him down.” That said, he turned around to face Andrew while he leaned against the counter. “Obviously, he’s a very demanding man, has a specific image he wants to project. He wanted the perfect house, lavish and ornate. He wanted my mother to be beautiful and graceful and elegant, yet at the same time her background was important to him since he didn’t want just some rich, pretty woman. As for me… I never understood what he wanted from me since I was never going to be his heir.” That had confused Abram after he’d learned the truth, had learned about the Moriyamas. “I could understand the obedience part, but not the rest. But I suppose it’s a blow to him with his ego and all, what with all the mistresses, to think of his son sleeping with another man.” Abram’s lips twisted in a bitter smile at that. In part because he’d only slept with men due to the Moriyamas, and because he didn’t give a damn what his father thought about him.

Andrew was quiet as he waited for the coffee to finish. “Not the first tough guy to be insecure.”

“No, and not the last.” Abram shrugged as he went to fetch a mug. “But it’s just guesswork on my part. All I really know about my father is that he enjoys inflicting pain on people, and the bloodier the kill, the better in his mind.”

The kitchen was quiet, save for him and Andrew fixing their drinks. “You’re not taking what that asshole said seriously, are you? Of giving in?”

“No,” Abram admitted. “Not to my father. I spent ten years with the man, and that was more than enough. My mother gave up her life to get me out of his hands. As much as I hate the way my family is paying for my freedom… I won’t let him get his hands on me again.”

“Him or the Moriyamas,” Andrew insisted. “Because there’s no guarantee that they won’t hand you over to him to make you more ‘receptive’.”

Someone wasn’t going to let that topic drop, were they? Abram sighed as he picked up his mug of tea, for a moment debating about going for the bottle of Baileys before deciding that he’d had enough alcohol that day.

“I get it,” he told his friend. “No need to beat that horse to death anymore.”

“I’m not so certain,” Andrew said as he leaned against the counter, mug of coffee cradled between his slightly reddened hands. “You strike me as someone who likes to martyr himself for no good reason.”

“I thought your degree was in criminal justice, not psychology,” Abram argued as he stared into his tea.

Andrew was quiet for a moment. “Then explain Jain to me.”

It took everything Abram had just then not to throw the rest of his tea in the man’s face just then. “You wouldn’t understand,” he said through gritted teeth.

“Wouldn’t I?” Andrew appeared much too calm just then. “Why don’t you tell him ‘no’?”

“Why do you want to know?” Abram asked with a bit of desperation. “Why do you keep asking?” Why did it matter to the man?

Andrew seemed to think on the subject for several seconds, long enough for Abram to hope that the topic was being dropped. “Because I hate martyrs,” he said with a rough edge to his voice. “Because I hate people being stupid.”

Maybe Abram should have gone for the Baileys. “I’m not being stupid,” he insisted, and nearly winced at how rough the words came out. “Wei Jain is one of Xue’s most important people and used to getting what he wants.” He gripped at his forearms, at the bands of hidden knives on them, as he thought about Jain. “All he wants is a bit of my time now and then, which is the least I can do for all that the-“

“Don’t you dare say that you let him rape you for your family,” Andrew spat out, his expression closed off but eyes bright with some emotion. “Don’t you even dare.”

The blunt words made Abram sway back and forth as if they’d hit into him with a physical force. “That… he doesn’t….” It was difficult to breathe for some reason. “It’s not….”

“If you don’t want to do it, it’s rape,” Andrew said, voice even once more as he reached out to give Abram’s left shoulder a quick, gentle squeeze. “Don’t tell me you don’t agree with that.”

Abram tried to breathe, but it felt as if he was inhaling shards of glass, his throat hurt so much. “You don’t… you can’t understand. It keeps _them_ safe.” As long as Jain was pleased, Xue was pleased. As long as Xue was pleased, the Hatfords continued to prosper and strengthened the alliance that helped them with the Moriyamas. Abram refused to allow any more of his family to die, not when he could do something about it.

“Don’t I?” Andrew was quiet for a few seconds after saying that, while Abram stared at him in confusion. “I know about allowing someone to – it doesn’t work,” he told Abram, his voice once more rough while his face was emotionless. “It gets you _nothing_ in the end, because they’re just going to keep on taking. So _enough_.”

“Or what?” Abram asked as he gripped his forearms even tighter, in part to still the trembling in his hands. In part to not think about what Andrew had just admitted.

Andrew was quiet as he fixed himself a mug of coffee, his usual blend of milk and sugar added to it before a good bit of whisky was poured in as well. “I told you, no more martyr bullshit. _Any_ martyr bullshit. If you think I’m going to stand by and watch you walk off to – no.” That was all he said before he picked up his mug and stalked out of the kitchen.

Abram stood there for a good minute or two, during most of which he eyed the bottle of whisky with a serious sense of temptation, before he took his tea and retreated to his floor, which he didn’t leave for the rest of the day. He did his best to focus on work, to not think about Jain or Andrew or what Andrew’s revelation had meant.

The next day he had to face the man, and both of them were a bit distant with each other, were quiet and kept to themselves for the most part. But Abram cooked them breakfast, and Andrew passed on that Nicky said ‘hi’ while they ate their dinner (and stole almost all of the naan, the bastard).

The day after that, things appeared back to normal, with Abram once again working in the kitchen and Andrew reading in the living area, with a fire blazing in the fireplace since the weather was a horrid mix of freezing rain outside. They’d make the occasional snarky comment to each other, but the silence between them was now comfortable and not strained, and Abram didn’t brace himself for some awful question each time his friend spoke up. He found himself oddly relieved that things had returned to ‘normal’, that the tension between them was gone, then wondered why that was so. Why it was so important that he got along with Andrew, why there wasn’t that sense of disapproval hovering between them. Yes, he might have labeled the American as a ‘friend’, but technically Andrew was just a bodyguard, and there was more than enough space in the house for them to avoid each other if need be. He shouldn’t want Andrew’s approval or friendship, really. Shouldn’t want to let anyone who wasn’t family in that close.

So why did Andrew’s presence relax Abram so much? Why did he find himself staring after the man, at the way that Andrew’s body moved, at the slight flow of emotions over what most people would take as an emotionless face? Well, if one didn’t know to watch for the slight purse of those full lips, the gleam in the hazel eyes and the way they would minutely narrow or widen. The ebb and flow of inflection in Andrew’s deep voice, the way that the American held his cigarettes or his drink which could tell volumes about his temper at any given moment.

It was normal to know this much about another person, right? Abram always had to pay attention to his mother in order to follow her cues, to know when to run or to change their story, and also because of her mercurial temper due to the stress she was under. He definitely needed to keep on his toes around his father, to do his best to please the man, to not mess up… even if it often was a lost cause. So of course that translated into him watching his roommate, considering how he was used to paying attention to everyone around him.

He wasn’t obsessing over the man or anything. It was normal.

That was what he told himself, until he jolted awake one morning from a dream of him kissing Andrew, emotions confused and body tingling from the oddest sensation.

*******

Andrew had a cigarette while he watched Abram grow increasingly frustrated, doing his best to get something out of the guarded women and bedraggled kids they'd found in an old brewery in Chiswick who had clearly been dumped there by some smugglers a couple of days ago. A few of the women had picked up some French, a few kids some Spanish, and Abram was doing what he could until Ravi and Liam showed up to take over this mess; Andrew had a feeling that a certain someone was going to be stuck in his room for the next couple of months, doing his best to figure out a new language. Fucking overachiever. Oh well, wasn't like they had that much to do, other than a bunch of odd jobs running about the city.

Hearing the creak of a rusty door being pushed open, Andrew tossed the cigarette aside and reached into his coat for his gun, while at the same time he noticed how Abram went quiet and still, but it was just Ravi and Liam finally showing up; Ravi holding bags of something in his right hand and a smile on his handsome face, teeth white against his coffee-colored skin and wavy hair slicked back from his face much like Abram's, and Liam a ruddy shadow behind him holding what looked to be a case of bottled water.

Ravi called out something in a flowing, Middle Eastern language, and it seemed to put the women at ease while it had the children taking a halting step toward him. As soon as one of the women nodded, they clustered around the enforcer with sharp-pitched cheers as he handed out some foil-wrapped items. "Sorry," he explained in slightly accented English. "I figured they hadn't had something proper to eat in a while and it might help."

"From the little I can tell, they were dumped here four days ago. It might be more of Symicek's shit, him working with the Favier gang, but you can figure it out for us," Abram said as he walked away from the women.

"All right," Ravi agreed before he started talking in the other language again, this time while giving out the food to the women.

Andrew waited until Abram fell into step beside him to leave his post near the door. "So not our mess anymore?"

"I doubt it - Ravi and the others will track down who brought them in and shut down the smuggling ring, most likely, since it'll lead back to France. Jamie will probably get Lloyd involved, let him know someone's been sneaking people in and how, which will be helpful to us in the long run."

"So much for honor among thieves," Andrew remarked as he opened the door and checked outside before letting Abram follow him.

"Well, we look out for our own, that's about it. And not wise, dumping those people on our territory." Abram gave a slight shrug. "Either way, it needs to be done. And if Lloyd finds out about it and that we didn't tell him... it won't reflect well on us."

Andrew dwelled on that as he made his way over to the McLaren, and as he neared the car, he turned back to Abram to make a comment about how Jamie wasn't going to let them work on the 'mess' anymore because she didn't want to give the agent another chance to recruit her precious 'little cousin'. It was then that Andrew caught a glimpse of something huddled between the wall of the brewery and the car, and just managed to yank Abram toward him as there was a ‘popping’ sound.

His friend cursed and went for one of his knives, while Andrew didn’t waste any time; he pulled out his gun and fired it at the crouched figure holding some sort of weapon pointed at the two of them. His shot got off first, and whatever the asshole was shooting at them went wide.

Their attacker crumpled to the ground while Andrew kept Abram pinned against him as he whirled about, busy checking to see if there was anyone else ready to attack them. He thought he saw someone take off running further down the gravel parking lot, but since there was no one charging at them and no more shots fired, figured that anyone else was scared off for the moment. It was around then that Liam came charging out of the building, his own gun in hand.

“What the hell?” His eyes went wide as he took in Andrew and Abram, then narrowed when he spied the man bleeding out near the McLaren. “Anyone else?”

“A runner, as far as I can tell.” Andrew motioned toward the end of the parking lot.

“Hmm, probably too late to do anything about it, but I’ll put out the call. Local gang is helpful and ‘at.” Liam glanced around as if checking things out before he put away his gun, only to replace it with his cell phone.

Still pressed against Andrew, Abram let out a slow breath. “Ah, I think it’s safe now.” He gave Andrew’s left arm around his waist a light pat.

It took Andrew a moment to realize that he was still holding on to the man; he frowned in surprise and let go, confused at how he hadn’t done that immediately. Confused that he hadn’t reacted over having another person that close. Confused over how – okay, not going there. Yes, he was supposed to protect the idiot, but not coddle him. Certainly not hug him as if – _not going there_.

This whole ‘attraction’ thing was getting out of hand.

He joined Abram over by the man quickly bleeding out on the gravel; hmm, maybe Liz had been a bit too good in teaching Andrew how to shoot a person. “Think we’ll get anything out of him?”

Abram let out a weary sigh. “No, though don’t think there’s much of a point.” He frowned as he toed the dying man in the leg. “Hey! You Moriyama or Wesninski?”

That produced a quiet gurgle from the man.

“Yeah, rather useless,” Abram continued.

“So sorry,” Andrew said with a heavy dose of sarcasm. “Next time I’ll let him rough you up a bit rather than handle it so effectively.” While Abram rolled his eyes, Andrew bent down to look at the weapon near the dying man. “Hmm, odd sort of gun.”

“Gun?” Abram joined him, his shoulder brushing against Andrew’s; that should have bothered Andrew, but… yeah, damn sense of attraction. What made it all the more worse was that Abram had been oddly skittish around Andrew for the last couple of days for some odd reason. Today was the first time that he seemed ‘normal’. Well, normal except for the fact that he wasn’t flinching over touching Andrew so much. “Ah, looks like a tranquilizer gun. I’m willing to bet I’d have been knocked out and carried off, and you left unconscious at the very least.”

Andrew thought about that for a moment. “The very least?” Behind them, it sounded like Liam was now calling in someone to take care of the body – which was good, because the asshole had stopped breathing.

Abram shrugged. “You either being left here for the family to deal with, or brought along to possibly be used against me. That or they’d kill you while you couldn’t fight back.”

“Such charming people.”

“That they are. I wanna know how they knew you were here,” Liam commented as he joined them by the body.

“I’m sure you’re not the only one,” Abram said with another sigh.

Liam grimaced a little at that. “Well, now that you mention it.” He winced a little when Abram’s eyes narrowed. “Stuart did say for you to get your asses back home before something else happens.”

“So much for not being kept locked up,” Abram muttered as he stood up from the body, a churlish expression on his face.

“Hey, don’t look at me, I’m not the one they’re after,” Andrew argued. As they made their way back to the car, he checked it out to ensure that the asshole hadn’t scratched it up or fucked with it in any manner – all the while ignoring the dirty look he was getting from his ‘babe’.

It was a rather quiet drive home, one where Abram seemed intent on ignoring him in favor of firing off several texts after lighting up a cigarette, probably to Jamie and Stuart to bitch about a few things, which was fine with Andrew. Once there, Abram went straight to his floor as if he was a sullen, spoiled teenager, leaving Andrew with the rest of the townhouse. So he threw his coats onto one of the stools around the kitchen island, lit up a cigarette of his own since no one was around to bitch at him for smoking inside and poured himself a glass of whiskey before leaning against the counter to check his own phone.

There was one from Stuart bitching at him for not winging the guy (Andrew was just fine with not ruining a suit that day), while Jamie said that Jason would be by sometime in the next day or so to make sure that no one had put a tracer on the McLaren and to up its security system. Bren asked him what did he want for dinner (probably figuring out that Abram was in a pissy enough mood to not answer a text like that), and Renee sent along a couple of pictures of some stupid shack she’d help build with a few kids. Really, she should have taken a few engineering classes or something….

Then there were several messages from Nicky, something about Matt Boyd and his Exy team almost winning against Riko and Kevin’s. About Boyd doing well enough that people were talking about him having a shot at the US Court this year. Huh, that should be interesting, having Boyd on the same team as Kevin and Riko, considering how many times Andrew had to smack the man down because of the fights he got into with Kevin on the court, fights he was only too willing to continue _off_ the court. So what if Kevin was an annoying, condescending bastard who had no real social skills, who couldn’t talk about anything other than Exy? And had talked down to all of the Foxes because he’d considered them beneath him? Andrew had said ‘don’t touch’ so he’d expected everyone to listen and not touch.

Still, considering how everything had turned out….

After pouring himself another glass of whiskey, Andrew told Stuart to ‘fuck off’ and next time he’d let the man’s precious nephew get shot while he aimed a bit better, warned Jamie that Jason better not scratch up the car while he checked it out, informed Renee that she obviously didn’t know what the hell a right angle was but whatever, and asked Nicky why the hell his cousin assumed he gave a damn about Exy or Matt Boyd in the first place. Oh, and learn to fucking spell. To Bren, he just texted back pasta, the usual, and he didn’t know why Abram complained about the damn garlic bread so ignore the whining bastard.

It was the little things in life that gave him the greatest amusements, he was learning. Bee would probably shake her head and go on about being passive-aggressive or some other shit, but oh, what fun was to be found when Abram’s dark brows drew together and he bit into his full lower lip as Andrew walked off with the container of bread, much too _polite_ to come out and say _something_. Andrew was waiting for the day when Abram finally snapped and did say something… and the satisfaction of knowing that he’d pushed the man – one of the Hatfords’ most dangerous - too far over _garlic bread_.

Andrew exchanged a few more texts with Nicky, who of course was in a chatty mood (when wasn’t the idiot?) while he waited for Bren to arrive with his food. During that time his idiot cousin filled him in on the ‘hot’ neighbor (kept weird hours, didn’t talk much but Nicky didn’t care because he continued to be hot and built ‘like a brick house’, whatever that meant in ‘Nicky speak’), Erik’s new job, a possible new car for the couple, and a seemingly random comment or two about Aaron which Andrew knew was anything but (it appeared that his twin had finally picked up on the fact that Andrew was no longer in the States and had bothered to reach out to Nicky to see if Nicky knew of Andrew’s location; Andrew suspected that Aaron was only concerned about him showing up in Charleston out of the blue, not that something had happened to him. Nicky was dancing around the question on if he should say anything to Aaron, while Andrew came out with an unequivocal answer – **NO**. There was no reason for his twin to know anything about his new life or to be involved in it in any manner).

Then there was general talk about the Foxes, where Andrew once more stressed that he didn’t really care about his ex-teammates. That he didn’t want to know about them, he didn’t want to talk about them and he was done with them. Seriously, why didn’t Nicky get that? Had Andrew ever expressed an iota of concern for his ‘fellow’ teammates during his five years as a Fox? No, it had been Aaron, Nicky and Kevin for the most part, with a little bit of Renee because she was worth the respect. And at this point in time? Nicky and Renee. That was it.

So he had a few glasses of whiskey in him by the time that Bren showed up with the pasta, at which point Abram finally deigned to leave his floor. The idiot took one look at Andrew and somehow knew to break out the gin, to ignore the whole garlic bread thing (for once Andrew didn’t care about provoking a reaction) and sat down at the island without his laptop or phone.

“So… I’m picking up on an ominous air right now.” Abram peeked into his take-out container. “Uhm, is there poison in here?”

“No,” Andrew said as he stared at his empty glass of whiskey in a fit of annoyance.

“Uhm, would it help you if you added any?” Abram asked as he continued to stare through the small slit. “I believe I have a rather decent tolerance to arsenic. Don’t ask.”

Andrew shifted his gaze to the idiot for several seconds. “So generous, but I think I’ll pass. No reason for you to get out of this so easily.”

“Well, just know it was a one-time only offer.” Abram flipped open the container all the way and poked his fork at his gnocchi. “You missed your chance.”

“What, you don’t let people poison you all the time?” Andrew carried his containers with him as he went to grab the whiskey bottle, then back to the island to refill his glass.

Abram gave him a loaded look with those fake grey eyes of his. “Only you, _hon_.”

For some reason, that nickname twisted something inside of Andrew. “Aw, thanks, _babe_.”

That earned him a long stare, and right before he could snap at Abram to stop looking at him, Abram glanced aside. “Getting tired of pasta, then?”

Andrew scoffed as he reached for a slice of garlic bread. “Not quite.” A slight smile lingered on his lips as he took a bite of the bread. “Just certain people.”

“Ah.” Abram had a bite or two of his dinner. “Lucky them.”

“Yes, lucky them.” Andrew finished off his bread before he had some fettucine. “Nicky has a big mouth and some stupid notions in his head.”

“I see.” Abram frowned into his container of food. “Well, not really.”

Was there any wonder why Andrew called him an ‘idiot’?

“Just sit there and eat,” he told his ‘friend’. Abram’s eyes narrowed and for someone with such attitude, he looked much too attractive, but he managed a couple more bites before he gave up on the food in favor of pouring himself a couple of shots of gin.

“Think I’m done with dinner.” Abram pushed the container away. “I mean, it’s another happy night here, who needs food.”

“Not some idiot martyr who thinks he can live off of spiked tea, apparently.” Andrew had another slice of garlic bread.

“And coffee.”

Oh yes, quite the idiot. “Why do I bother with you?” Andrew asked after he finished his bread.

The expression on Abram’s face just then was difficult to define. “I’m not quite certain of that myself.” He frowned for a moment as he stared into his glass of gin. “Ah yes, that damn car.”

Now it became clear. “Makes sense to me.” Andrew twirled some pasta around his fork as he felt his mood lighten; dammit, how was it that the idiot could affect his emotions so easily?

Abram rubbed at his forehead for a moment before he drained the glass of gin.  “I’m so glad it makes sense to someone.”

“Doth proclaimeth the idiot.”

“Fuck off, you rude, uncivilized Yank,” Abram told him in an almost cheery and much too polite tone of voice.

“One day you’ll learn that you’re only that much more amusing when you do that whole polite thing while trying to be insulting,” Andrew informed him. “It’s like a three year old trying to be scary.”

Abram glared at him for a few seconds before getting up to place his empty glass in the dishwasher, the gin bottle back in the cabinet and then flashed Andrew a rude gesture before leaving the kitchen. Ah, looked like that meant he got all the take-out for himself as well as a quiet night ahead, what joy. Andrew allowed himself a moment or two of smugness while he munched on more bread, then refilled his glass; an occupied Abram was best, and out of sight even better. That way Andrew didn’t get to sit there and ponder on how damn attractive the man was with that hair falling onto his face, or those fucking loose pants slipping down hipbones that begged to be grasped and – oh yes, keep the bastard locked up on the floor for the rest of the night. Especially when Andrew could still remember the feel of Abram held close to him, that soft, thick hair brushing against the side of his face, that lean body-

Some more whiskey might be a good idea.

Andrew didn’t get it, didn’t understand why Abram affected him this way, why these awful emotions just got stronger instead of fading away. It hadn’t been like this with Roland. If Andrew felt the urge to get off, he checked if Roland felt the same and things were fine. The rare times when Roland didn’t feel the same, there was a slight disappointment, but things were still fine. When Roland had ‘ended’ things between them, Andrew hadn’t been that upset, either – the man was still a great bartender and treated Andrew right in that regard. Andrew could find someone to replace the bartender… he just hadn’t bothered.

So should he bother to find a ‘Roland’ here and now? To see if it had just been too long for him to go without some sort of sexual outlet other than his hand? Andrew frowned at his dinner as he thought about that, about the logistics of leaving Abram alone while he sought out a ‘fuckbuddy’, while he tried to find someone who would listen to him and go along with his demands and… and… _fuck_.

Roland had been good looking, and okay, Andrew could admit that had been a nice bonus. It wasn’t a necessity, but yeah, the body, the face… it hadn’t hurt. The main thing had been that he’d known Roland, had known Roland enough to feel some sort of trust with the man, to know that Roland would keep his word and follow orders.

Abram? As elegant as the man looked in his dark grey suits, Andrew preferred him as he’d been just now, with his tousled, wavy hair falling onto that gorgeous face (seriously, did he ever get it cut?) and lean runner’s body casually dressed. Just as attractive as Roland if not even more so, but in an entirely different way. Different temperament, too, but Andrew knew that Abram could be trusted, knew that if it came down to it that his friend would listen, would follow commands… but for different reasons than Roland.

Andrew felt some of his appetite vanish at that thought. Was that why he’d alluded to his past with Drake the other week when talking to Abram? Back when he’d pushed about Jain? He’d probably gone too far with that, even though he’d wanted to prove a point to the idiot, to break him of that stupid, destructive mindset… but he’d never talked about it with anyone else except Bee. And even then, it had been just as vague, and only because she had access to certain documents since she was his ‘mandatory’ therapist.

Andrew had a feeling that Abram had already figured out a few things about him, that the ‘revelation’ wasn’t entirely a surprise, and the Brit hadn’t been pleased to discuss Jain. Things had been tense for a day or two afterward. Then… then things had returned to normal between them, more or less. Well, except for Abram being oddly skittish at times, and more of that staring whenever he thought that Andrew wasn’t paying attention.

So yes, best for the idiot to be on his floor for the night and allow Andrew some peace. Lack of an appetite or not, Andrew finished the pasta, refilled his glass with whiskey and then did some reading in front of the fire for a couple of hours before retreating to his own bedroom (with the rather sardonic thought in his head over the fact that he was enjoying a lazy evening in a multi-million dollar townhouse while sipping expensive as fuck whiskey when however many therapists and social workers had told him that he wouldn’t amount to much at all).

He got out of bed the next morning to find a certain idiot running on the treadmill (of course), face flushed and hair pulled back in a ponytail (seriously, he was going at those freshly dyed strands with scissors one day), wearing shorts and a tank-top that left nothing to the imagination (maybe there was something to bastard Luther’s talk of sin and punishment – perhaps Andrew should have paid an iota of attention to those boring sermons/dinner prayers/torture-fests and have a better idea of if Abram was some sort of divine retribution or not. Or he could just ask Renee). Or inspired too much imagination. Way _, way_ too much imagination. Imagination that was _not_ helpful when one was about to lift a bunch of weights.

Andrew figured doing squats were out right then. And cursed himself as he found himself staring at a particular bead of sweat running down the left side of Abram’s face and along his neck and… yeah, retribution and shit, he thought as he glared at an oblivious Abram, who kept on running. Kept on running in those rather short-

Time to work out on the stair climber, Andrew told himself as he slipped in the ear buds and turned up the music as loud as he could without damaging his hearing. Then got to work on climbing an endless amount of ‘steps’ leading nowhere, which seemed like a good metaphor right about then.

By the time he was done with his workout and cleaned up, Abram was in the kitchen and busy on his laptop, there was a fresh pot of coffee brewed and what turned out to be a semi-decent looking omelet filled with cheese and jalapeno peppers waiting for Andrew on the counter. A bit surprised by that, Andrew made some toast and fixed his coffee, then sat facing the idiot. “So who do you want me to kill today, hmm?” he asked as he motioned to the omelet.

Abram smiled, which really shouldn’t do something to Andrew’s chest like that. “No one as of yet, but the day is young.”

“Duly noted.” Andrew took a bite of his breakfast and decided that his roommate was getting better with the things, not that he was willing to let Abram try dinner again anytime soon. He ate on in silence, well aware of how Abram kept glancing at him over the rim of the laptop. The lingering looks he was used to by now, but the hint of pink to those high cheekbones? That was new, and wasn’t anything he wanted to think about just then. No, not at all.

Sainthood or damnation, one of the two, and fuck, but he had spent too much time around Nicky and Renee or something to be thinking of such useless shit.

He had just finished his breakfast (and not managed to crack a tooth, what with the way he was biting down so hard) when Abram made a low murmuring noise. “Oh, so they’re having some Exy promotional tour it looks like,” he commented. “Some of the US and Canadian teams coming over here to play a few off-season games.”

Andrew had a bad feeling all of a sudden. “So what?”

Abram shrugged as he looked over his laptop. “Well, they’re some of the better teams, placed well in the latest season and all. Guess they’re trying to drum up some enthusiasm before the latest vote for open spots on those countries’ Courts, yes?”

Oh yes, definitely a bad feeling. “What teams?” Andrew asked as he rubbed at his face.

“Uhm, well, the Toronto Bears, the Chicago Stars, the Portland Peregrines and-“

“Yeah, that’s enough,” Andrew said as he grabbed his phone and texted Renee; she probably wouldn’t answer him for a while, but he asked her if she hadn’t told those fucking Foxes to stay the hell away from him.

Meanwhile, Abram continued to stare at him. “Ah, the Peregrines. Matt Boyd, right?”

“Matt Boyd-Wilds, to be exact,” Andrew reminded his friend.

Abram glanced back down at his screen. “They say he has a good chance at being asked for one of the open backliner spots for the US Court. He was one of the strongest players to come out of Palmetto State, other than you and Day.”

Andrew shrugged at the casual compliment. “I thought you weren’t that much of an Exy fan anymore.”

“Not devout, but I pay a little attention,” Abram admitted, his expression smoothing out in a way which Andrew recognized as him shutting down a bit. “Enough to know where Riko and Kevin are, at the least, though not much more than that.”

“Can see the logic in that.” Andrew got up to dump his plate in the sink and fetched some more coffee. “Boyd never was that much of a friend, if you ever wanted to call it even that. If anything, I’d think the man would want to avoid me.”

Abram leaned back and cocked his head to the side as he regarded Andrew. “What did you do to him?”

“Why do you assume such a thing?” Andrew asked, which just made Abram smile; for some reason it didn’t bother him, Abram making such an assumption, probably because Abram would be quick to confess to his own faults and ‘misadventures’. “Fine, the man had a… slight issue with drug addiction. I got tired of seeing him slinking around, hiding away from others on the team who didn’t have a problem with using drugs, and took him out with my fellow ‘monsters’ one night to a local club where temptation was within easy reach. It was up to him to sink or swim, so to speak, and he decided to sink.” He waited to see if there was any reaction from Abram, any sort of reproach, but his friend just sat there and waited for the rest of the abbreviated story. “We took him back to campus and let his mother, who had known what we were going to do and hadn’t objected to the plan, and the team nurse put poor Boyd back together again, and didn’t have to worry about him moping around anymore. Unfortunately, the rest of the team didn’t see how we’d solved a problem and more or less decided to hold it against us.”

Abram’s expression was thoughtful just then, and Andrew suspected that his friend figured that he hadn’t done that to Boyd just ‘because’, but he wasn’t going to bring up Aaron’s ‘issues’ at the moment. Still, after a few seconds Abram sighed and shook his head. “I highly doubt he’ll be asking to crash with us.”

“Don’t jinx us,” Andrew warned with a displeased look. All Abram did was smile before he resumed whatever he’d been doing on his laptop.

Renee didn’t get back to Andrew until the next day, and it was with ‘I did my best. They’ve been warned. But you know them.’ Andrew was not very pleased when he read it and nearly threw his phone against the wall in sheer frustration. His mood was not helped by the fact that someone had managed to slip a tracer on the McLaren somehow, and Jason spent a day with much of the car’s panels and electronics pulled apart as he installed what was supposed to be a ‘new and improved’ security system on the thing. Then supervised as a couple of other people did much the same to the townhouse.

Andrew realized a couple of things then – that he did _not_ like it when people messed with items he considered his (not just people), and that he had actually become invested enough in… whatever he had going on here that he considered the townhouse and the McLaren as _his_. Much more than he ever had with the GS and his place back in Columbia. Even the house he’d shared with Nicky and Aaron.

Was it because it was the first real thing he’d chosen for himself? The first thing which made him feel something? Where he’d felt accepted for himself and didn’t have to hide what he was?

Whatever the reason, he found himself bothered as Jason and the other Hatford people crept around the townhouse installing bits of equipment, while Abram was all but huddled in the kitchen with his laptop in an effort to stay out of the way, his expression guarded and eyes shadowed. Andrew had a feeling that his friend had gotten used to it just being the two of them in the large townhouse as well, and wasn’t dealing well with the sudden ‘invaders’.

“Jason said they should be done by tonight,” Abram offered in Mandarin as he brewed another pot of tea, his hands almost hidden by the long sleeves of his overlarge grey sweater.

“About time,” Andrew said in the same language; they had taken to speaking in it since Andrew needed the practice and also since it helped to give them a bit of privacy with the others around. “Now to see how soon it’ll be before you set off the damn thing.”

Abram gave him a dirty look. “I may not have a fancy memory like yours, but I’ve lived with things like this longer. I think I’ll manage.”

“First one to set if off is taking the other out to dinner,” Andrew bet as he leaned against the counter next to his friend.

“Fine,” Abram snapped, eyes flashing as he pushed aside the hair falling onto his face; the ends were now brushing past his shoulders, he hadn’t had it cut or cut it himself in so long. Andrew had to constantly struggle with the urge to tuck back the wavy strands, to – he curled his fingers into a fist and smacked it lightly into the thick wood of the kitchen cabinet.

While the tea brewed, Abram grabbed a packet of cookies, which he held out to Andrew. Still annoyed at himself for the direction his thoughts had been going in a moment before, Andrew snatched at the snacks – and grabbed it along with a good bit of Abram’s hand. He stilled at the contact, at the feel of cool fingers against his own, and stared at his friend. Abram stared back at him, equally still, and a pink flush colored the Brit’s high cheekbones as his lips parted, as he seemed to lean forward a little.

Andrew was too stunned to blink just then, to even breathe lest he do something to drive off Abram before he could figure out just _what the hell_ was going on, and then there was a noise from out in one of the other rooms and the moment was shattered. Abram drew in a sharp breath and jerked away, and only the flush of color on his otherwise pale face let Andrew know that he hadn’t imagined things, that _something_ had indeed happened.

Something that looked an awful lot like mutual attraction. Something that was more than lingering, sneaked glances. Something that was more than confusion.

Something that couldn’t possibly be true for Andrew.

Fuck.

He was used to wanting something that was out of his reach, that would remain unattainable. To being denied everything, to being left alone and… and… what the hell. Abram wasn’t supposed to want him back. This was insane. This was impossible and reality fucking with him.

Yet Abram hunched over the pot of tea as if it was the only thing that mattered just then, a hint of pink still on his cheeks as he fussed with the damn thing, as if he hoped the faint bit of steam would explain that bit of redness. Andrew glared at him while he bit into a shortbread cookie, then went to fetch the bottle of Baileys.

Abram started when it was slammed onto the counter next to him, a slight curse slipping free before he caught himself. “Oh, yes,” he sighed when he caught sight of the alcohol, then grabbed two mugs from one of the upper cabinets – mugs which he all but half-filled with the alcohol before pouring in some of the tea.

Yeah, Andrew was in agreement with that.

They were quiet as they drained the mugs, then Abram made another round. “So, what’s Nicky been up to? He still on you to see Boyd?”

Well, now Andrew felt more furious than frustrated, and threw a cookie at his roommate, which made Abram scowl at him. “I told him if he wants to see the bastard so much, wait until the Peregrines arrive in Berlin. Think the moron just wants to come spend a few more days here.”

Abram held up the cookie for a moment before he threw it into the sink. “Not a good idea for him to visit any time soon.” He glanced out past the living area, to where a woman was installing something on the doors leading out to the garden.

“No, which is why I basically told him to fuck off,” Andrew agreed. He’d permitted Nicky and Erik to come around Christmas when things had seemed relatively settled, but there was no way he’d allow his cousin anywhere near London or the townhouse when Ichiro had basically declared it open season on Abram. As for Boyd and the rest of the ‘Foxes’… something needed to be done with them.

They finished the pot of tea then Abram did a bit more work while Andrew went back to reading – all at the kitchen island – and Jason finished up with the improved security system about an hour later. He walked the two of them through it while his assistants or whatever packed up the gear, and Andrew felt a sense of relief when it was just him and Abram in the house once more.

The next day they had to go out to help Lloyd with another matter, more of Abram translating while Andrew did some roughing up, which was fine with Andrew. Helped him to vent some frustration, some tension, and for once he didn’t have to warn Abram to stick close. It was becoming second nature for the both of them to be each other’s shadows, to have each other’s backs.

Andrew tried not to think of the implication of that – of how after so many years, of so many failed bonds, in what he’d found here in Europe, in London. In what he’d found when he’d finally given up on being ‘good’ and wearing the false mask that Aaron and Bee and everyone else had forced upon him. When he’d finally embraced the monster inside of him.

He had his knives and his Glock, had his black suits and his McLaren, and scruffy teenagers standing beside the sports car all but bowed their heads as he approached, hands held out from their hoodies and coats as if they knew well enough to make them appear empty – and oh so happy for the folded pounds Andrew gave them in return for keeping the car untouched and unticketed.

“Some chav came around, but Eddie chased ‘im off, he did,” one of them told Andrew.

Abram nodded at Andrew, so he slipped the teen, who had half a head on Andrew even if he was way too thin, some more money. “Tell Arnie about the guy.” Arnie Reynolds looked over the neighborhood, and judging from the way the kid nodded, was known to the teenagers. If the kids were anything like the ones Andrew knew from juvie, they helped in running the neighborhood by watching everything and doing a bunch of various errands for Arnie.

“Yes, sir.”

Wasn’t that odd as hell, being a ‘sir’? Still, that ‘sir’ meant the difference of the pack of kids fucking with Andrew and his car, so he let it slide as he got into the McLaren and noticed how Abram was smiling at him. “Better than a fucking security system,” he snapped.

Abram’s smile widened. “Oh yes, one doesn’t want to mess with the ‘demon midget goth’,” he teased. “Or his car. Might end up in pieces, floating down the Thames.”

“Who’s to thank for that?”

“Well, you have had a very productive last few months.” Abram shrugged as he fussed with his hair.

“I’ll choke Davis, then,” Andrew decided, which got a laugh out of his friend – but no denial.

They had barely gotten back to the townhouse when Andrew’s phone chimed – instead of being a message from Stuart or Jamie about the recent job, or even Davis pleading for his life, it was an unknown number. An unknown number from the States. Eyes narrowing upon seeing that, Andrew tapped on it, bracing himself for something from Day again or worse. Instead, it was a text from Matt Boyd. Boyd-Wilds. Whatever.

‘Wanna meet up?’

Oh yes, Andrew was distinctly displeased with Renee at the moment. He wasn’t that happy with Nicky, either, as he told the backliner to ‘fuck off’. Before he could block Boyd, his phone rang. Figuring he might as well get it over with right then, he answered the call.

“What part of ‘fuck off’ don’t you get?”

“And what the hell is your problem?” Boyd asked. “Seriously, you can’t spare an hour or two for an old teammate?”

“No,” Andrew said, sharp enough to make Abram blink at him from the other side of the kitchen island.

“Aw, come on! You had no problem seeing Renee and Allison!” Boyd argued.

“I had no problem seeing Renee, I put up with Reynolds because I had no choice,” Andrew informed the man. “I won’t make that mistake again. Now go away.”

“See me or-“

Andrew hung up on the asshole, done with the conversation at the time. At Abram’s questioning look, he gave a bored stare in return until they moved on to order something to eat.

So imagine his displeasure when the next day, Nicky sent him a video link to Boyd at his team’s press conference, going on about how he was hoping to meet up with some friends during the tour. He was being a bit cagey about exactly _who_ the friends were, making reference to some ‘old’ teammates… and how he was still getting in contact with a couple of them. But he was certain he’d see them and have much to talk about, and would give an update later if anyone was interested.

Veiled threat much?

Abram got up to fetch the bottle of whiskey and left it on the island near Andrew before leaving the kitchen, as if sensing that it wasn’t a good idea to be around just then. Andrew had a couple of swallows straight from the bottle before he looked up the number he’d blocked the day before then called it.

“I’m about to meet up with you just so I can slit your throat,” he warned.

“Look, I wouldn’t say anything!” Boyd said in a rush. “Renee told us that you have some stuff going on, so I won’t do that, but Allison made this bet and Dan’s worried….”

One of the Foxes’ fucking bets, it figured. “You’re harassing me over a damn bet,” Andrew ground out. “Forget your throat, I’m going to stab you in the stomach so you suffer longer.”

“Aw come on! Look, just meet up with me for a little while, all right? Allison’s been going on about seeing you and Dan’s going to give me shit if I don’t check up on you,” Boyd complained. “She’s not convinced that Allison’s telling the truth and all Renee will say is that you’ve a new life.”

Why did they even give a shit? “Am I supposed to care here?”

“Half an hour. Twenty minutes, all right?” Boyd bartered before Andrew could hang up again. “That’ll be enough to placate Dan and get her of my back.”

Andrew thought about that for several seconds. “Fifteen minutes, I pick the place, and after that, you inform the rest of the Foxes that none of them bother me.” Between Renee and Dan, it should be enough to keep the others the fuck out of Andrew’s life – the ones like Jack, Sheena and Ryan shouldn’t bother with him, but Jordan, Miley and a few others might follow the older ones’ leads and be pains in the asses. “And I mean that – no texts, no calls, no lame-ass attempts to meet up with me.”

Boyd was quiet for about a minute. “Yeah, nice to see some things never change. Fine, tell me where – I’ve some free time tomorrow.”

“Whatever.” Andrew hung up again and went to track down Abram so they could figure out how to deal with this latest complication.

After talking it out with Abram, Andrew sent a text to Boyd to meet them at the Plucked Gander in Camden, around three in the afternoon. He wasn’t pleased with dragging Abram to the pub, which was owned by a semi-‘retired’ Hatford enforcer (Billy Murphy, a man who looked like he served as his own bouncer despite the fact that he supposedly was too old to be out on the streets bashing in heads), but was sick and tired about hearing how the idiot wasn’t to be left alone. Besides, Andrew figured that he could use Abram as an excuse to leave if (when) Boyd got on his nerves.

Having arrived early, Andrew got himself a whiskey and Abram surprised him by requesting a pint of stout, and they picked a table in the half-empty pub where they could watch everyone coming inside, dressed on the ‘casual’ side for once. It didn’t take long for Boyd to arrive, dressed in a low-key manner as well, in a dark blue jacket, jeans and a blue sweater, with no black and silver Peregrines coat or jersey or some such shit. Definitely no white and orange PSU Foxes shit, which saved him from having a glass thrown at his head.

Boyd appeared much the same as the last time Andrew had seen him, which meant still tall as fuck, still wearing a stupid grin and his black hair spiked up, but he’d filled out a little more, shoulders a little broader and all that. Playing in the pro league seemed to agree with him, and he had a thick gold band on his wedding finger as well. He glanced around the pub and for some reason his grin grew even wider when he spied Andrew, his expression becoming surprised when he noticed Abram off to the side.

“Wow, okay, Allison _wasn’t_ lying, was she?” he said as he approached their table. “You really are living here, look like you’re doing pretty good for yourself and have a hot boyfriend!” He smiled at Abram and held out his right hand, which Abram eyed with obvious trepidation. “Hi! I’m Matt, Matt Boyd-Wilds.”

Andrew caught a slight sigh before Abram accepted the hand, and noticed how his friend tensed when Boyd gave it a rather enthusiastic shake. “Hatford. Abram Hatford.” Off along the bar, Murphy paused in filling someone’s pint to watch the introduction, probably waiting to see if Abram was going to stab Boyd or not. Meanwhile, Boyd’s eyes went even bigger for some reason, which didn’t do anything for Andrew’s temper.

For himself, he waited until Boyd let go of his friend, and as soon as Boyd turned to him, got out of his seat and threw a punch at the asshole’s midsection, one that made Boyd lose his breath and bend over; no one else in the pub reacted, least of all Abram and Murphy. While Boyd gasped in pain and tried to speak – most likely something along the lines of ‘what the hell?’, Andrew stepped back. “That’s for making me come here today,” he informed his former teammate. “Do it again, and I really will stab you.”

“The fuck,” Boyd wheezed as he fumbled for an empty chair, his complexion flushed and eyes filled with accusation. “Nice ta… to see some things never change, Minyard.”

“Yes, which is why you should know better,” Andrew insisted. “Pass on the message – leave me the fuck alone.” He didn’t need the aggravation of his ex-teammates in his life, especially with the Moriyamas fucking about. At the least, Kevin knew him well enough that he didn’t give a shit about the people, other than one or two of them – but they were still a complication he didn’t need.

“Yeah, I got it,” Boyd grumbled as he rubbed along his abdomen, then summoned up a smile for Abram. “But wow, _you._ Abram. Dan’s not going to believe this. How do you put up with this grumpy bastard?”

Abram frowned at the question, or maybe it was Boyd talking to him in general that he didn’t like. “Ah, well, he has his good points,” he hedged.

“Oh god, that accent.” Boyd’s voice sounded odd just then as he stared at Abram, at least until Andrew cleared his throat. “Does it… oh wow, you hear it all the time?” he asked Andrew.

“No, he just puts it on for show when we’re out in public,” Andrew snapped. “If you had me come down here to watch you be an idiot, I already had four years of that back at Palmetto. Four years too much.”

That seemed to break Boyd out of whatever weird daze he was in. “Right.” He frowned a little and shook his head, his attention divided between Andrew and Abram. “You know you had a lot of people worried about you, what with the way you dropped off the radar the last year or two and then just leaving everything in Columbia all of a sudden. Dan spent a lot of nights on the phone with Wymack and Abby, and even a little with Bee.”

Andrew tapped his fingers against the scarred top of the wooden table and wished that he could have a cigarette, while Abram got up all of a sudden. That made Andrew scowl and nearly get up from the table as well, until he realized that his friend had gone over to the bar and was ordering more drinks from a watchful Murphy.

“I’m an adult, I can do what I want,” he told Boyd; besides, it wasn’t anything that he hadn’t heard before, from Nicky and Renee. “If you came here to try to lay a guilt-trip on me, consider it a waste of time and just leave.”

Boyd sighed and shook his head again. “No, I know you that well, I’m just… I passed on the message, okay? And consider yourself lucky that Dan’s too busy with her kids and her programs to rip you a new one herself. I know you never really considered yourself as part of the team, but not everyone else felt that way and we worried about you.” His expression became serious. “So yeah, even though Renee told us all to back off and give you your space, Dan and I wanted to make sure you really are all right and just let know you that people worry. So don’t pull the same crap again.”

Was Andrew hearing things or something? What made these fools believe that they had any say in his life, that they could dictate anything to him or that he had an iota of concern about them? "Again, why do you think any of this matters to me? Let me set you straight - I am not your concern, I am not your friend, I am nothing to you. You are certainly not anything to me." It was around then that Abram returned, a pint glass in one hand and what looked to be a very full tumbler of whiskey in another.

He set the pint down near Boyd, mindful not to get too close, and handed Andrew the whiskey while sitting back in his chair; Boyd watched him the entire time with a bit too much interest, which made Andrew's fingers itch to pull one of his knives. Instead, he picked up the glass and started drinking.

"Thank you," Boyd told Abram. "What do I owe you?"

"Forget it," Abram said with a slight wave of his hand. "On the house, so to speak."

Boyd smiled at that. "So how did the two of you meet? I have to admit, I'm just not seeing-"

Andrew slammed down the glass onto the table, which made Boyd flinch. "You're not listening, are you? Drink your beer and then fuck off."

The smile faded away, to be replaced by a look that Andrew had often seen directed Kevin's way - Kevin's and at some opposing player who had taken to mocking the Foxes. "Oh yeah, you definitely haven't changed much even if you're in another country and wearing fancier clothes." Boyd raked his eyes over Andrew, lingering on the black sweater he wore, the leather coat thrown on the spare chair. "But I was there, I saw how you harassed Wymack to take on Robin Cross, and I remember repairing the damn windows that day when she announced that she wasn't coming back the next season. I also know you didn't bother to 'fix' anyone but me that one season, so don't tell me you didn't care about us in your own messed up way."

Someone really _wasn't_ listening, and was going to get himself and others hurt if there was a mole in the pub, Andrew thought as his left hand curled into a fist. "I did what I had to do in order to make my five years at Palmetto bearable and nothing else," Andrew insisted. "Once I was free of my contract and that place, I put everything behind me, including you useless fucks. So do me a favor for once and leave me the hell alone. You've seen for yourself that I am alive and well, now go away before I get nasty."

Boyd made a low sound of frustration and turned toward Abram. "A little help here?"

The idiot had enough sense to shake his head, his mostly full pint held loosely between his hands. "Oh no, I believe he's made his opinion on the matter perfectly clear. You should be grateful that he's being this polite considering what you pulled to get him down here."

Well, nice to know that someone had his back in all this shit. Though Andrew really was going to stab Boyd, what with the way he kept gawking at Abram - what was up with that?

"Oh, okay." Boyd picked up his pint and took several long swallows from it. "Is he for real?" he asked Andrew when he set the glass down on the table.

"What the hell is your problem, besides the obvious ones?" Andrew asked in a quiet voice that made Abram go still beside him.

"I mean, Allison said... well, never mind what Allison said," Boyd continued as he pulled out his phone. "But, uhm, this is going to sound really odd," he said to Abram, who was eyeing the moron with some serious consternation at that point, "but I think you just won her a major bet...  I think it's the accent." He stared at Abram a little longer. "And other things."

Abram stared back in apparent confusion back at the backliner, his brows drawn together and lips parted, while a slight flush colored Boyd's cheeks; realization seemed to dawn on him around the same time it did as Andrew, as Abram's expression became shuttered and he drew back in his chair, his right hand clasped around his left wrist, right below the arm band.

While Abram pulled away, Andrew lunged forward, out of his chair and toward Boyd, his right fist flying with all of his strength behind it. The force of the punch knocked Boyd out of the chair, and as soon as the bastard staggered up onto one knee, Andrew hit him again.

The pub went quiet with no one moving other than Murphy to throw out his arms in a clear sign for the rest of the patrons to remain where they were and for Abram to follow after Andrew, to hover behind him with his hands near Andrew's shoulders but not quite touching. "Enough," he warned, while Boyd let out a strangled curse.

Andrew ignored that as kicked his former teammate right in the gut. “Stay down," he spat out while Boyd moaned in pain yet clenched a fist as if to throw a punch of his own. "Get up and I'll break your neck."

"Damn psycho," Boyd muttered after spitting out a mouthful of blood.

"Come anywhere near me again and you'll find just how right you are," Andrew promised as he motioned to Abram, who sighed and went to fetch their coats. Along the way, he handed some money to Murphy, who accepted it with a curt nod. "Listen this time - stay the fuck away, all of you. I don't want to see any of you."

"Yuh- yeah, got it." Boyd spit out some more blood, his face already swelling from the blows.

Andrew snatched his leather coat from Abram on the way to the door, and the two of them were quiet as they got into the McLaren; Andrew because of his still volatile temper, Abram because... well, because, Andrew suspected. Probably wasn't happy about Boyd's clumsy come-on back there - which, what the fuck? Renee had some serious explaining to do, whenever Andrew bothered to speak to her again. If he ever spoke to her again, he thought as he lit two cigarettes – one for him and one for a grateful Abram.

He wasn't that surprised that Abram accepted the bottle of gin from him while he grabbed the whiskey, once they got to the kitchen, though the Brit only poured about two shots worth before putting it away again. He waited until Andrew finished the tumbler of alcohol he'd poured for himself before he spoke up. "So, that went... well, it went. More or less."

Considering that they'd gone there with the intention of putting on enough of a 'show' to convince any of the Moriyamas' people that Andrew wanted nothing to do with his ex-teammates... yeah, it had indeed 'went', so to speak. Maybe better than Andrew had planned, much to Boyd's misfortune, but something had snapped inside of him when he'd seen Abram's reaction to the clumsy confession, when he'd _heard_ said confession. Why? He didn’t want to think about that just then. "One way to put it," Andrew agreed as he poured more whiskey so he didn’t have to think about it just then.

Abram was quiet for about a minute after that. "I doubt we'll be hearing from your old friends now."

Andrew clicked his tongue. "Better not." And they weren’t his ‘friends’.

"Yes." Abram sighed before he drained his own glass, then set it aside on the counter. "He wasn't quite what I expected."

"In what way? That he was an utter moron or that he hit on you?" Andrew asked with a bit of an edge to his voice, which caused him no small amount of annoyance – he wasn’t going to think about it, dammit. Or talk about it.

There was more silence while Abram looked down at something on his hands - no, his wrists, Andrew realized. "Yes, that was a bit of a surprise, I'll admit," he said eventually.

What a joke. "That someone would want you?" That someone would want the gorgeous idiot? Andrew had just been surprised that it had been by a man he'd assumed was straight. Apparently Boyd was a bit more ‘flexible’ than he'd thought.

"Yes," Abram agreed in such a serious tone that Andrew wanted to smack him.

Andrew was at his limit of stupidity for the night. "You should be used to it by now." He saw it all of the time - the way people looked at Abram, the lingering glances, the failed come-ons and all. How could Abram _not_ realize it? Yet all he got in return was that damn confused expression.

"I don't... no."

"You're a fucking idiot," Andrew informed the man as he picked up his refilled glass.

"I suppose," Abram admitted as he set his own glass in the dishwasher. "But I don't know what you're talking about." He paused for a moment as he gazed down at the counter. "I don't... I've never thought about it."

Because Abram didn't care for people wanting him; Andrew didn't know if he really was Ace or if what those Popescu assholes had done to him had left him too scarred for any sense of attraction - the Popescus and Jain. "It's fine," he said, voice a bit rough as he pushed down his own emotions, his own disappointment.

Abram lingered for a moment before he turned away, turned toward the stairs. "At least, until now," he said, his voice quiet. "I think about it now... and you." The last two words came out in a rush as he ducked his head and stepped away, his face downturned so his hair fell to cover it - but not enough so Andrew didn't catch the flush of pink on it.

At first Andrew thought he’d imagined things, that maybe he’d been drinking more than he’d thought or Boyd had gotten in a lucky blow to the head that he hadn’t noticed. Because there was no way in hell that Abram had said… that he’d have… it was impossible. Because things like that, like what Abram had just said… it didn’t happen to Andrew. He didn’t get what he wanted. _Never_.

And he wanted Abram.

So he had to have misheard just then. Or Abram had meant something else. Had misunderstood what the fuck they were talking about – he was enough of an idiot that Andrew could believe that.

It was a mistake, it had to be. The fast car, expensive house and fancy (and somewhat bothersome) clothes… those things didn’t really matter to Andrew. They weren’t important. Even if he considered them ‘his’, there was no real ‘want’ tied to them. He asked for the McLaren on a whim. He wore the clothes mostly to annoy Stuart. The townhouse… dammit, the townhouse was tied to Abram.

To what he wanted. To what he couldn’t have.

Except Abram said….

Andrew grabbed the bottle of whiskey and stalked off to his bedroom, determined not to think about anything else that night.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> *carefully wraps up the precious Matt and tucks him away*  
> Yeah. So sorry. Poor dear didn't know what he was walking into there - just trying to check up on Andrew for Dan and Wymack and Abby and Bee, and after being blindsided by British!Neil/Abram, he got picked by Andrew to be made an 'example' of (you know Allison is listening to Renee).
> 
> So sorry.....
> 
> Hmm. but a glimmer of hope there at the end? Or the fraying of Andrew's sanity, one of the two....
> 
> Thank you so much for the wonderful comments and kudos! Will be getting to them shortly, now that things are less insane.  
> *******


	8. Starving

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Fair warning, there's some dark thoughts skirting around suicide in the first section of the chapter, if that's a trigger for you. One of the boys is at a low place and not thinking straight, and it's not too much of the section, but yeah, a warning.
> 
> Back on schedule! Though next week not sure if I'll make the Wednesday update, work is being demanding (how DARE they! I mean, it just... pays the bills and all. MEH). But hopefully that'll be it for a while.  
> *******

*******

Abram looked at the cheese and jalapeno omelet that he'd made and wondered if Andrew would come out of his room that morning; he hadn't left it except for once yesterday, as far as Abram could tell, and that was when Abram had been in his own.

So far, it was looking as if it would be another day of Andrew shutting himself away, of Abram sitting by himself at the kitchen island for a few hours before giving up and retreating to his room as well. Of spending hours wondering why the hell he'd given in to the impulse to speak the truth, to tell Andrew about the confusing thoughts that had filled his head the last week or two.

About how he couldn't stop thinking about the other man, about his dreams, about the conflicting emotions inside of him. The ones that made him want to spend as much time as possible with Andrew, that made him want to remain close, to hear Andrew's deep, often sardonic voice, to feel that warm, calloused hand on the back of his neck even when he hated people touching him. That made him wonder what it would be like to touch Andrew back and even kiss him.

For some reason, Abram hadn't wanted to keep that from Andrew any longer, to hide those thoughts away. Because Andrew, after all he'd been through, after all he was doing for Abram, deserved to know the truth. Deserved to know something that might make him look at Abram with disgust and hatred. Might make him finally come to his senses and run away while there was still time.

And it looked as if that was finally happening. All Andrew needed to do was finally walk out the door for good.

Abram wrapped the omelet up and put in the fridge, rather than let it go to waste; maybe Andrew would eat it later if he came downstairs. Then Abram put on a pot of coffee, just in case, and was fixing a pot of tea to go along with his own toast when he heard a faint noise. Startled by it, he whirled around with the butter knife held as a weapon, and blinked at Andrew, who stood near the island. His friend was dressed in plain blue pajama bottoms with a black t-shirt that left his arm bands on display, his blond hair tousled and stubble on his face. He gave Abram a bland look, almost as if Abram wasn't there, and then looked past him at the coffee machine. Seeing it busy brewing, he nodded slightly before going over to the fridge.

Abram debated saying anything or not, but since Andrew wasn't speaking to him, decided that maybe silence was best. He continued with his toast and then set it down on the island, while he noticed that Andrew pulled out the omelet along with some leftover muffins from the day before. While Abram prepared his tea, Andrew took the food into the living room.

All right, so things definitely weren't back to normal. Abram sighed as he went to fetch the Baileys and added a good dollop to his mug, then sat down and powered up his laptop so he could go through some emails while he nibbled on his toast, no longer in the mood to eat anything. He got through about half a slice when Andrew came back for some coffee, again without saying a word.

There had been days when Andrew had been withdrawn like this in the past, when he preferred to be alone and quiet... but Abram knew he had something to do with his friend's recent dark spell. That he was the one to set it off. And that hurt, the knowledge. It hurt very much, to know he had that much power over another person, a person whom he - it hurt.

Perhaps it would be best to call Stuart, to ask his uncle to reassign Andrew, to give him his own area or something, maybe the Dublin office since he'd proven himself so capable, and Abram would just resign himself to whomever his uncles picked out as his new babysitter. The house was big enough that he could find some privacy.

He pushed the plate aside and focused on the emails, on the translation requests and double-checking some numbers for Sabine, and kept his head bowed over the laptop when Andrew came back in some time later for more coffee and what sounded to be a packet of biscuits. When Abram’s phone rang after that, he answered it with a sense of relief just so he could talk to someone. He didn't care that it was Zhou following up a couple of emails, or that the man mentioned Jain might be stopping by London in a couple of days. Abram asked if there was anything that he and his family needed to provide for the man's stay, then hung up the phone.

In the middle of drafting an email to Jamie about the call, Andrew came into the kitchen, literally threw his dishes into the sink which created a loud clatter as the porcelain broke, then strode out while Abram fought the impulse to throw something as well - a knife - while running in the opposite direction. He stared at his roommate's departing back while trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, before taking several breaths to calm down. Then he got up, fixed himself another mug of doctored tea, and finished the damn email.

He was giving it one more day before he contacted Uncle Stuart.

Jamie was quick to respond, asking him questions about what he'd talked to Zhou about and if there'd been a specific request for him to be there if and when Jain arrived. Abram had a feeling that his cousin was about to send him on another trip, the Moriyamas be damned, and wasn't sure if he was touched or offended by her meddling. He was an adult and he could decide what to do about Jain, no matter what the family and Andrew thought. Considering what his father and the Moriyamas were up to... now wasn't the time to upset Wei Jain or Xue.

Still, he answered the best he could and got some more work done, then dealt with the mess that Andrew had left in the sink. The remains of the plate and mug were thrown into the trash, then Abram debated on if he wanted anything for lunch before just grabbing a bottle of water. He’d gotten about halfway through a document he was translating into Russian when Andrew came into the kitchen to fetch some water for himself, covered in sweat from his workout, then walked back out. Abram assumed that was the last he’d see of his friend for a while.

He’d just finished the document and was debating over which one to do next when his phone pinged, warning him that Bren was on his way to drop off some groceries. Not in the mood to deal with anyone just then, Abram sighed and scrubbed his fingers over his scalp. For a moment he considered telling Bren not to bother, but then he realized that they needed the food. At the least, Andrew was running short of whisky.

It took another five minutes before Bren showed up, bringing in the first of several loads of groceries. “Hey, someone looks happy,” he said as Abram met him at the door. “Andrew going through withdrawals or something?”

Abram was quiet for a moment, then reached for the bags that Bren was carrying. “Where’s Stuart?”

“Huh?” Bren frowned, probably because of the change in topic. “Think he’s down in Liverpool, but he should be back tomorrow. Why?”

“I need to talk to him.”

Bren was quiet for a moment. “Okay, I’ll pass that on.” Then he went outside to get more of the supplies.

Abram was in the kitchen putting things away when both Bren showed up with more bags, some of them containing alcohol considering the clanking, and Andrew deigned to come downstairs. The American ignored him in favor of nodding to Bren.

“Oi, I got a few more bottles for you, and those chocolate muffins you like.”

“Good.” Andrew crossed his arms over his chest, dressed little better than he had been that morning. “Need you to babysit tonight. I’m going out.”

Nice of him to clear that with Abram, but at the moment… probably best, Abram told himself as he continued to put the groceries away.

Bren glanced his way, but Abram just shrugged to show that he didn’t care. “All right, what time should I show up?”

“Eight.”

“I’ll be here.”

Andrew only stuck around long enough to grab a new bottle of whisky and then left, so Abram continued to put away the rest of groceries while Bren went back and forth. Once everything was brought in, the enforcer hovered around the island. “Is… is something wrong? You two seem a bit off.”

Abram shrugged aside Bren’s concern. “Just need a little space is all. We’ve been cooped up too long,” he lied with ease.

Bren didn’t seem as if he believed it, but he knew Abram well enough to let the matter lie and told him he’d be back in a few hours before he left. As for Abram, he resumed work and tried not to think about what Andrew had planned for the night. Especially not when eight o’clock came around and Andrew appeared in form-fitting black jeans, a tight black jersey top and a leather jacket. Abram took one look at his friend then grabbed a bottle of gin before he retreated to his bedroom as soon as Bren showed up.

It wasn’t often when he allowed himself to become as drunk as that, but he did that night. Damn the nightmares, damn the hangover.

The next morning was spent in misery, first in the shower and then in the bath, trying to shake off the feelings of malaise and misery. So much for his usual morning work-out, but after around ten or so, he began to feel almost normal. Then he crept downstairs for some caffeine to help get him through another day.

He balked when he found Andrew in the kitchen, appearing a bit worse for wear as well, glaring at the brewing pot of coffee. Abram hesitated for a moment, unwilling to put up with dealing with Andrew just then, not when the man had clearly been avoiding him the last couple of days, but let out a harsh breath and steeled himself for the next few minutes. _He_ had been the one to ruin things between them, to confess, so it was on him. Just get a pot of tea and some water, go back to his room and wait for Stuart to call him. It was clear what he needed to do at that point.

He walked past a brooding Andrew and fetched the kettle, poured water into it and set it to boil while he filled a pot with some tea leaves, figuring he could take that and some water back to his room; he wasn’t hungry, so food could wait longer. He’d just work in his room that day and leave the rest of the house to Andrew.

In the process of filling the pot with some Earl Grey leaves, he jumped when he heard Andrew’s deep, tired voice. “You’re really not going to say anything?”

Abram went still for a moment, then finished preparing the pot. “What is there to say?” He’d confessed the other day, wasn’t that enough? Was he supposed to say he was sorry? Supposed to take back the words? He _was_ sorry that he’d hurt Andrew, but it had been the truth. He couldn’t see how to take that back. The only thing to do was to move forward, to let Andrew do whatever was best for him.

The air was filled with tension while Andrew poured the coffee into his mug then added a good bit of whisky along with some sugar and milk. He seemed to be staring at Abram, but Abram focused his gaze on the pot in front of him, and after a few seconds, Andrew clicked his tongue and left the kitchen.

As soon as the tea was ready, Abram retreated back to his room, his sanctuary. Once there, he focused on work, on the thing that had gotten him through so much in the last few years. No matter what happened, whatever changed, he could count on this much. Could count on helping the family by doing this. He never should have attempted a life outside of it, of foreseeing a future past it. He’d chosen this path, after all. Had picked it when he’d made that call to his uncle, the scent of smoke and burnt flesh clinging to him as he’d found the old, battered pay phone that day several years ago. California seemed like decades ago. _Nathanial_ seemed like decades ago. No, he’d been Alex then. For a moment the years wore down on Abram, for all that he was twenty-five.

Did he really want to see twenty-six?

Wasn’t there an easy solution to all of this? Hot water and some sharp blades (which he had in plenty). A quick drive out in Andrew’s obnoxious car into some of the shadier areas of town, pick up some drugs for a convenient overdose. Hell, some cable that Jason and his people had left behind, a chair and a high vantage point. Abram’s gun, which he barely used.

More than enough opportunities. Yet before he could even move off the bed, he heard his mother’s sharp voice in his head, felt her fingers in his hair, on his arms, against his back. Remembered the sand biting into his fingers as he buried her, the raw scrape as the skin wore away while he dug and dug and _dug_ ….

Andrew had killed his mother, and it could be argued that Abram had killed his own as well. As much as his life wore upon him at times, as much as he hated it, he couldn’t throw it away. Because his mother had paid for it in her own blood and pain – and not only her. Henry and Cal and Louisa and Noel and… and too many, really. Abram could list them all, though it only made him want to head into the bathroom and fill the tub even more, to pull out his blades and stroke them along the veins in his arms until they sunk in.

It was so much better if Andrew ran from him, if Andrew had a fresh start. Abram needed to talk to Stuart. Because it had been bad enough for Andrew when they were just… just friends. Just roommates. No, let Andrew have a chance.

Stuart called toward the later part of the night, when Abram was exhausted from his thoughts and a day spent working, bleary-eyed after staring at the screen so long. His phone ran, and it took a couple of seconds for him to realize what the sound meant. “Hello?”

There was silence for a moment. “Fuck, but you sound bad. What the hell is going on?”

“Uncle Stuart.” He’d wanted to speak to the man, so that was good. Wasn’t it? “I need to talk to you.” Abram saved whatever he’d been working on and set his laptop aside.

“So I hear.” Stuart was quiet for a few more seconds. “Have you been drinking?”

Abram frowned at that. “Drinking what?”  He’d had some water… uhm, when had he last drank?

There was muttering on the other end of the line. “For fuck’s sake, what the hell has the midget goth been doing? Tell me you’ve been drinking _something_.”

“Oh! Yeah, Andrew.” Abram remembered why he’d wanted to talk to his uncle. “It’s about Andrew.”

“Ram… what the hell is going on?”

“I fucked up,” Abram admitted. “You need to… look, just find someplace for him, okay?” he asked. “Dublin or something. Make him happy.” He hunched over on the bed, suddenly dizzy. “I’ll take whoever you give me, just find a new place for him.”

“What the fuck?” Stuart snarled, which made Abram flinch. “What’s going on there? What did he do?”

“He didn’t do anything, all right? It’s my fault,” Abram said. “Just… maybe I should talk to Jamie.” He closed his eyes as he slumped back against the pillows on his bed. “I just… I’m sorry.”

“Ram? What the hell is going on? You should like shite. What’s going on?”

Funny, he didn’t feel too good right then, either.

“Jus’ find him… s’mthing,” he mumbled before he closed his eyes, suddenly tired of it all.

From far off he could hear his uncle’s voice, but it just reminded him of his mother’s, reminded him of her scolding him to keep up, to keep going, that he was ‘fine’, that nothing was wrong so to keep moving. Her hands harsh on him, palms slapping against his face, bony fingers yanking on his hair, digging into his arms and shoulders as she pulled him along, as they kept running. Always running, never stopping.

Never stopping, until that abandoned beach in California. The fire and the darkness and the waves. The feel of rough sand against his fingers, scraping his fingers raw as the cold saltwater soaked into his body, soaked into the open wounds until he couldn’t even register the pain anymore.

Funny, how one got used to the pain after a while. Story of his life… so much pain. What was it like, to not feel it? To not have it constantly inflicted? The burns and slices and smacks. The insults and putdowns and insinuations, the accusation and innuendos and guilt.

So much guilt. Sometimes he expected to look down at himself and see his entire body covered in blood from all of the people who had died because of him. And the thought of Andrew joining them… no. _No_.

Abram curled up on his bed as that thought filled his mind, arms wrapped around his head, and ignored the ringing sound filling his room.

*******

Andrew stared into the restocked fridge for several seconds before he slammed the door shut; it was at least the third time he’d done that in the last ten minutes, but he still hadn’t found anything of interest.

There was the whiskey… but he had the feeling that he’d had enough to drink the last couple of days. Maybe hold off on it for a little while. Maybe.

It wasn’t helping his mood any that Abram was hiding in his room. Why did it seem that whenever Andrew was up to confronting… whatever the hell was going on between them, Abram wasn’t? That the Brit wasn’t anywhere to be found?

So yeah, that first night they both seemed to retreat after Abram’s declaration or confession or whatever. That ‘I think about it now… and you’. And Andrew could admit that it had thrown him off for a day after that, had made him bunker down and wonder what the hell was going on, if Abram had lied, had mixed things up. Had really been telling the truth, had really meant what he’d said. Because Andrew? Andrew wasn’t anything special. Wasn’t worth anyone’s time or attention, not with his issues and problems. Not to someone like Abram.

Yet he’d forced himself out of his room, forced himself to move despite the weight pushing him down, the lethargy that made him want to just stay in his bed, to not deal with anyone. And then Abram had barely looked at him, hadn’t said anything to him at all. So much for that ‘confession’, eh?

He’d seized on the chance to get out for a while, to maybe find someone to distract himself with when Bren had shown up, and Abram hadn’t even blinked an eye when Andrew had said that he was going out. Hadn’t shown any emotion at all when Andrew had come downstairs dressed for a night clubbing, despite Bren arching his eyebrows and all, so Andrew had left the townhouse with every intention of trying to find a ‘Roland’, of picking up someone he could suck off and get some sort of release with, who seemed willing to follow orders and was somewhat trustworthy. Yet as he stood in the crowded club in the Southward area of London, with the lights flashing and the music pounding a heavy base he could feel in his bones, an overpriced drink in his left hand… all he could think about was if Abram was all right at home, if Bren was doing his job properly and how none of the people there interested him. Some of the men were easily as gorgeous as a certain idiot, but they didn’t have his fire, didn’t have that spark which had drawn Andrew in.

He definitely didn’t trust any of them enough to go down on his knees for them, to let them lay hands on him. The couple of men who seemed interested acted as if he should be grateful for them deigning to talk to him, so yeah, not happening.

Before, he had to deal with the rage running through him, the anger thrumming beneath his skin. Now he had to deal with the frustration simmering inside of him, the burning of desire aching in his bones all because of one idiot.

He didn’t know what was worse. Oh, wait… yeah, he did. The rage he could punch out, could beat down and swallow and learn to ignore. The frustration? Oh how it refused to be ignored. _Dammit_.

Andrew had always said that he had wanted nothing. Now it seemed that Fate was taunting him by going ‘oh, but you never really wanted _anything_. Try dealing with wanting _this_.’

With wanting an idiot whose voice haunted his dreams. Whose fleeting touches burned along his skin, whose unguarded words cut through Andrew with ease.

Except Abram didn’t seem able to make up his mind on if he really wanted Andrew or not. Could say something one day and then ignore it the next, the bastard.

Maybe Andrew should go for the whiskey after all.

He had just forced himself to grab a package of cookies when his phone chimed; at first he thought it might be another message from Nicky bitching about the whole Boyd incident, which Andrew had been ignoring the last few days, and then he realized that the sound was all wrong. Just as he went over to the island to check it and see that it was an alert that someone had tapped a code into the security alarm, Stuart came barging into the house.

“What the _fuck_?” the man bellowed as he slammed the front door closed behind him; his expression was furious and his enraged voice echoed off of the cavernous walls of the main floor. “What the bloody hell are you doing, Minyard, and where the hell is Ram?”

Did the sudden entry constitute as a decent excuse for Andrew to stab the bastard? Probably not, he thought with a sigh as he slipped the knife back into his arm band. “Hello to you, too. And up in his room, why?”

Stuart flung off his expensive trench coat as if the garment offended him and kept stomping through the house. “Because the idiot called me about twenty minutes ago, sounding like utter shite and babbling about reassigning you and making you happy, you little prick! Now what the _fuck_ is going on here?” Stuart demanded to know as he headed straight for the steps leading up to the next floor – up to Abram’s room.

Any amusement Andrew found in the situation faded upon hearing about that ‘reassignment’. “What the hell?”

“Exactly. What has that fool been doing lately?”

“Sulking in his room,” Andrew snapped. “I don’t know, working and shit.”

Stuart came a halt on the steps so fast that Andrew nearly ran into him, his expression even more livid than it had been before. “You don’t know? What the _fuck_ does that mean? I told you to watch over him, you stupid fuck!” Before Andrew could punch the asshole for yelling at him, Stuart whirled around and ran up the rest of the stairs. “Bloody American pricks who don’t listen to anything!” Stuart muttered the entire time, right before he reached the door to Abram’s room and threw it open.

Andrew entered right behind the man, and swore as they both ducked out of the way of a thrown knife – a knife that missed then by about two feet or so. Abram sat on his bed, propped up by his pillows, droopy eyes lacking the usual grey contacts and expression a bit dazed. “Go ‘way.”

“For fuck’s sake, Ram,” Stuart muttered as he approached his nephew. “When was the last time you ate?”

Abram looked at his uncle for a few seconds and then rubbed at his face. “Uhm….”

“You don’t fucking know?” Stuart’s voice was sharp and angry, which made Abram flinch.

“Toast?” the idiot offered up, which made Andrew swear.

“He had some toast the other day. That’s the last time I’ve seen him eat anything.” Dammit, why had Andrew assumed that Abram was keeping up with himself, when Stuart and the others had warned him? Because it was a personal matter on Andrew’s end? Because he hadn’t thought that Abram was affected by it? What the hell was going on here?

Stuart’s fingers flexed for a moment and his jaw worked, then he reached out for Abram, his motions slow, and pulled his nephew from the bed. “Come on, we’re getting some food into you.”

“But I’m not-“

“You’re eating,” Stuart argued. “I’m not telling Will that you passed out again. You eat or I call Anna and have her come and hook you up to an IV.”

Abram allowed Stuart to lead him out of the bedroom after that, his eyes downcast the entire time; when they walked past Andrew, Stuart cast him a virulent look as if everything was his fault. Despite that, Andrew followed them down to the kitchen.

Stuart shoved his idiot nephew onto a stool around the island, and while he went rummaging through the fridge, Andrew started heating up some water for tea. “All right, start talking, the two of you. What the hell is going on here?” Stuart demanded as he pulled some cheese out of the fridge, along with some butter.

“You need… you need to find a new place for Andrew,” Abram said, his eyes still downcast as he held his left wrist clasped tight in his right hand.

 Andrew slammed the electric kettle onto the counter. “No, he doesn’t.” He glared at Abram, who stared at him in confusion. “I’m fine here, unless you’re the one who wants me gone.” Was that the problem? Abram had changed his mind and didn’t want him around anymore?

Abram finally looked up at him, mouth agape and eyes wide. “But… but… you… it’s your chance,” the idiot said.

“Chance for what? The only opportunity I want right now is to throttle you.”

Stuart broke through the tension by slamming a large skillet down onto the fancy stove range just then. “No throttling, unless I’m doing it.” He sent a warning glance toward Andrew before looking over at his nephew. “You didn’t ask him if he wants to go?”

Abram hunched in on himself. “But… it’s obvious.”

“For fuck’s sake.” Stuart rubbed his forehead as if he had a headache, then glared at Andrew as if everything was _his_ fault. “Fucking children, the both of you.”

Andrew glared at the bastard for that, while Abram just remained all hunched over; he didn’t look good, he looked tired and stressed and… okay, Andrew should have noticed things. Should have been paying more attention to the idiot, he thought to himself as he powered on the kettle. But he’d been doing his best _not_ to look at Abram, not looking at what he wanted so _much_. At what he felt he was being tormented with, at something that was just out of reach.

What the hell was going on?

Meanwhile, Stuart kept muttering to himself while he made what looked to be grilled cheese sandwiches, of all things. “I’m not a damn babysitter,” he said once the sandwiches were assembled and in the skillet.

“Actually, I believe you are,” Andrew pointed out while he dumped some tea leaves into a pot. “A rather glorified one, but you do look after a bunch of people.”

“And I kill people,” Stuart informed him in an ice-cold tone, his grey eyes narrowed. “Don’t forget that part, you fucking midget prick.”

“So do I,” Andrew said in just as chilling a voice.

“Can I go back to my bed while you… I don’t know, wave your figurative cocks about?” Abram asked, his head held between his hands as if it pained him.

“ _No_ ,” both Andrew and Stuart snapped, which made Abram mutter something that sounded very nasty in Russian.

“ _You_ ,” Stuart pointed the knife he’d used to cut up the cheese and spread the butter in Andrew’s direction, “are to do your fucking job, you hear?”

“Does that include force-feeding your idiot of a nephew?” There was more vicious muttering from Abram over that.

“Yes, if need be.” Stuart gave Abram a displeased look. “But you shouldn’t have let it get this bad. Should have dragged his ass out of that room and sat him down before now.”

“I’m an adult,” Abram spat out, hands still buried in his hair and scowl directed at the marble top of the island. “Fuck you both.”

“You’re a fucking idiot,” Andrew informed his friend. “Why do you want me gone? First you tell me that you want me, and then want me gone?” He was done with the mind games and wanted answers.

“Wait, what?” Both Andrew and Abram winced from the sound of Stuart’s shocked shouting. “What the _hell_? _What… the… hell_?” He left the sandwiches cooking on the stove to step toward Abram, so Andrew filled the waiting pot with hot water and went over to make sure that nothing burned. “Ram?”

Abram huddled in on himself even more for a couple of seconds and then sighed. “I want Andrew to be happy,” he repeated as he looked up at his uncle, his expression one of misery. Why? Because he regretted what he’d said the other day? Andrew tried to figure that out as he flipped the damn sandwiches.

Stuart stared at his nephew for a couple of seconds before he shook his head. “What do _you_ want, Ram?” It was around then that his phone went off, but the man ignored it, save to reach into his coat to deny the call. “Ram?”

Abram shook his head. “It doesn’t matter. Just… just give Andrew his new assignment, okay? Give him what he wants.”

For a moment, Andrew thought he was imaging those words, thought he was hearing things again. Because there was no way that Abram had said that, right? That Abram was trying to send Andrew away because he thought _that_ was what Andrew wanted? Didn’t he know what Andrew wanted? Was he _that_ much an idiot?

Of course he was.

“Bloody hell, Ram, what do _you_ want?” The question was asked in a quieter voice that time.

“It doesn’t matter what I want,” Abram insisted as he got up, his pale blue eyes flickering over to Andrew for a moment. “It never does.”

Stuart looked as if he’d just been punched when he heard those words, and then his expression hardened as he whirled around to Andrew. “All right, that’s it. Pack your damn bags, we’ll-

There was a quick alert of the alarm being disabled, right before the front door was all but slammed open. “Stuart! Answer your damn phone,” Davis yelled out, his expression a bit disgruntled. “Jamie wants us _now_. Actually, she wants us like five minutes ago!”

Stuart made as if to brush off his second in command. “I’m busy, this’ll just-“

“No! Come on, she told me to drag you out of here if I had to,” Davis told the man as he actually grabbed onto Stuart’s left arm. “Now let’s go!” As he hauled a protesting Stuart out of the kitchen, he flashed Andrew a quick smile.

“Dammit! Ram, eat something you stubborn fool! And Minyard, we’re not-“ The front door closed on whatever Stuart had been about to say.

Andrew stared after them for just a couple of seconds, then removed the skillet from the heat on the stove. “Don’t you go anywhere,” he warned Abram, who was also staring after his departed uncle. “You’re going to eat, even if I have to shove these down your throat.”

“But I –“ the idiot must have picked up on the fact that Andrew wasn’t kidding, because he sighed and sat back down on the stool; Andrew wondered when he’d realized that he’d taken his contacts out. “I’m… I’m sorry Stuart yelled at you like that.”

Sure, _that’s_ what he was sorry about. “It’s my job,” Andrew said as he dumped about half of the sandwiches onto a plate, which he put in front of Abram before going to pour some tea. Around then his phone pinged, but he figured he’d check it after dealing with the idiot. “Eat.”

Abram stared at the mug and sandwiches, his expression forlorn for a moment before a sad smile crept across his lips. “Stuart always makes me grilled cheese. I don’t know if it’s because it’s all he can manage or what.” He picked up a sandwich and took a small bite.

Andrew wondered how many times the man had done it for his nephew – when ‘Nathaniel’ had turned up on his doorstep? After the – well, how many times. “You should eat.”

Things were quiet for about a minute, while Abram went through about half of a sandwich. “I just… I get distracted.” He stared at something that Andrew imagined wasn’t there while he sipped the hot tea. “Too many days when we didn’t have much of anything, when we couldn’t stop or get out to grab food… you learn to ignore the hunger and keep going.”

The opposite of Andrew, where _he’d_ learned to eat everything he could when he could, to fuel up whenever he had the chance. It had never been great, the food on hand, but he’d learned to make do. To crave the sugar and sweets, the carbs, so he could have that burst of energy to feed a fast escape.

“Was I the distraction?” he asked as he poured himself some tea (he needed to make coffee) and picked up a sandwich for himself – it wasn’t bad, considering that Stuart had made it.

Abram looked up and stared at Andrew for a few seconds, and Andrew noticed the hint of pink on his friend’s pale face before the tousled hair covered it when Abram bowed his head again. “You… look, I’m sorry,” Abram said, his voice rough. “I can stay out of your way until Stuart finds you something else.” He made to get up and leave, at least until Andrew grabbed onto his left wrist.

Andrew waited for Abram to pull away, to go for a knife or something, but all the idiot did was still and look at him for a few more seconds, his eyes wide (when would he realize that he didn’t have his contacts in?). “What the hell makes you think I want to go away? I’m not leaving here.”

“But….” Andrew could feel Abram’s tendons and muscles shift beneath his fingers, but the idiot didn’t pull free. “I… don’t you hate me now?”

Of all the stupid things…. Andrew let go of Abram’s wrist before he did something stupid, like try to shake some sense into the Brit. Talk about the impossible…. “Why the hell would I hate you? And sit down and finish eating before I really do cram it down your throat.”

Abram glared at him for that last part as he flopped back down on the stool and snapped his teeth into another sandwich, managing a couple of bites before his expression turned more introspective than furious. “You don’t want anything to do with me,” he said after a sip of tea.

Andrew was quiet as he finished his own sandwich, then got up for the restocked whiskey. After pouring himself a double shot, he tossed it back and savored the burn of the alcohol before he leaned against the counter to stare at the gorgeous idiot who once more was gazing at the marble surface of the island as if it was a psychic’s glass ball or something. “Out of the blue, you tell me that you want me. _You_ , the person I’ve seen shoot down how many other people, the person I’ve never seen show any interest in anyone else. What am I supposed to think?”

“I don’t….” Abram sighed as he rubbed at his eyes. “I haven’t done this before, dammit. I don’t know what you’re supposed to think, to be honest. I just didn’t think it would upset you.”

“Well, here’s a clue what does, _babe_ ,” Andrew drawled as he poured himself some more whiskey. “It’s you telling me that you want me and then ignoring the fuck out of me, only to call your uncle and tell him to take me the hell off of your hands.”

Things were quiet for a minute or two, until Abram let out a harsh breath. “And here’s another clue, _hon_. Maybe I don’t think you want me back when you don’t speak to me, when you won’t even come out of your fucking room!”

Andrew slammed down his empty glass and was in Abram’s face before he even thought about it – wait, all he _had_ thought about was proving the annoying idiot wrong. “How the hell can I trust what you tell me when you’re already planning on fucking Jain!”

 _That_ got him a couple of seconds of silence, as Abram seemed to fumble with what to say. “I don’t… what does… what?”

Andrew grabbed onto the idiot’s forearms. “How can you tell me that you want me when you’re planning on fucking Jain?”

Abram closed his eyes just then, even as he leaned toward Andrew. “I don’t want Jain.” He said that as if it explained everything, as if it made everything better. As if Andrew could deal with having the _one_ thing he wanted handing himself over to another person.

Turning back to the counter, Andrew poured himself another glassful of whiskey, in desperate need of alcohol just then before he did something he regretted. Well, he refused to regret anything, but before he did things that _others_ might regret. That was the trick, wasn’t it? Because it seemed that people had such fragile feelings. Was Abram one of them? “You don’t want Jain, yet you let him fuck you.”

Things were quiet again for about a minute, and then Abram got up from the island, got up and went over to Andrew and picked up the bottle of whiskey. “Why are you so obsessed about that? Why do you care?” He snatched away the bottle and drank straight from it, damn his usual wine and gin, though he grimaced as if bothered by the taste.

“Maybe because you’re letting some married man fuck you because of a fucked up sense of obligation?”

Abram muttered in Russian again before he drank some more straight from the bottle, his face contorting once again. “ _Hon_? Your sweet-talk or whatever this is sucks.”

Andrew leaned in close, boxing in the idiot. “It’s not sweet-talk, _babe_. Let me spell this out for you.” He gave up on his doubts, on everything just then, just for a moment. “I want you. And because I want you, I’m not going to let you go off and fuck someone out of a messed-up sense of obligation. So if you’re not some twisted figment of my imagination, sit down and eat. And don’t even think to screw some Chinese man.”

Abram glared at him. “Really?”

“You _want_ to fuck him?”

By way of answer, Abram grabbed the bottle of whiskey once more. “Why does it even matter, _hon_? I thought I was just some idiot who annoyed you.”

Waiting for Abram to take a few swallows, Andrew then snatched the bottle away. “Because I refuse to let you sell yourself when you don’t want to do it. Because… fuck, I don’t know.” Because everything got confusing when it came to Abram, to be honest.

Abram stared at Andrew as he held the bottle out of reach. “I go with Jain to keep-“

“Shut up about protecting your family,” Andrew snapped. “I think they do a decent job of it already.”  
  
“But-“

“No,” he insisted. “Do you want him, and do you want me?”

Abram gnawed at his lower lip for several seconds before he spoke. “I want you.”

Maybe this was some sort of trial for Andrew to go through, some sort of torture test. “Then it should be easy to figure out, yes?”

That earned him a potent glare. “Jain can-“

“Do you want someone to protect you who’s doing it only because you’re giving him something?”

Abram went back to the island and smoothed his hands over the marble. “Everyone wants something.”

Now that Andrew could understand. “So what do I want? And what do you want, hmm?”

That made Abram look up at him in a hurry. “I don’t… there’s no… I just… _dammit_.”

Despite all of those wonderful fragments, Andrew thought he got the gist of it, even if he didn’t know if he believed in it. “And what about me? What if I don’t expect anything from you in return?”

Abram stared at him as if _he_ was the crazy person. “Impossible.”

Yeah, that wasn’t a surprise. “Double standards much?”

That earned him a flinch. “What I meant was… fuck it,” Abram spat. “I’m tired of explaining myself to you.”

Andrew raised the whiskey bottle in a mock solute at the idiot. “Yes, much better to just give out some sort of cryptic one-liner here and there and be done with it, no? Oh, wait, that solves _nothing_.”

“Well then, here’s this.” Before Andrew could do anything, Abram grabbed him by the front of the shirt and then mashed their lips together; as first kisses went, it was pretty pathetic, was a bit painful and a mess and… and was Abram _kissing_ him, when it came down to it. Was Abram’s lips against his, warm and rough and soft at the same time, and by the time that Andrew’s brain caught up and his hands to move to latch on to the idiot, Abram was of course fleeing. Was already halfway across the first floor and headed toward the stairwell that would take him back up to his bedroom.

The first thing Andrew could think of as he stood there was that he was getting damn tired of the idiot figuratively slapping him upside the head with shit like this and then running off. Fucking rabbit indeed. Then it sunk in again that Abram had _kissed_ him.

What the hell?

Andrew touched his sore lower lip, where Abram's teeth had pressed into the sensitive flesh, then leaned back against the counter. The gesture had seemed more one of defiance than passion, but still, it had been a kiss. Had been Abram touching him, proving some sort of point.

Proving that he wanted Andrew.

It couldn't be real. No one wanted Andrew like that. Certainly not someone whom Andrew wanted in return. This had to be one elaborate fantasy on his part, some big trick and if he went upstairs to confront Abram, the idiot would just turn around to tell him that he was mistaken, that-

No, it couldn't be real. Despite his earlier resolve, he couldn’t believe in it.

He fixed himself another glass of whiskey while he listed all the reasons why it couldn't be real, and when he got up to number eleven (the cheese and jalapeno omelets), his phone rang. Deciding that it was about time to tell Nicky to get over the whole Boyd thing, Andrew snatched it up and was surprised to not only see that it wasn't his cousin, but that it was Jamie calling him. It was the first time that the woman had reached out directly to him, even though he had her number in his phone.

"What?"

"Yes, doing wonders for disproving those stories about American manners and the lack thereof, Minyard."

Andrew reached for the bottle so he could top off his glass. "Is there a point to this? I thought you were busy with Stuart."

"Hmm, not really - the Stuart part, that is. I just figured that you'd appreciate him being out of your hair at the moment, no?"

Pausing in refilling his glass, Andrew thought about that then set the bottle down. "You knew he was here?"

"Word got around to me that Ram wanted a word with him, yes, and I put two and two together, especially after talking to Bren. I know that Stuart wouldn't take things very well, so I figured it's best to keep him busy for a while - busy and not bothering you, so to speak."

"And why is that?" Andrew asked as he once more slouched against the counter.

"Because he's about to reassign you to Barcelona, perhaps? Effective immediately."

Lovely, Andrew thought to himself as he drained the glass dry. "And what about you? Shouldn't you be sending someone along to help me pack up?"

Jamie was quiet for a couple of seconds. "Answer me this - is something going on with you and my cousin?"

The question almost prompted a laugh from Andrew. "Depends," he muttered.

"I'm not in the mood for evasions right now," Jamie warned, her voice taking on that sharp edge which made all of the Hatford people jump around to do her bidding; Andrew wasn't a 'jumper', but he had to say that he was impressed.

"Fine. Yes, there's something going on, but what I've no damn clue," he admitted.

"Better." The dangerous note went away... mostly. "Look, you have to understand that Ram's like Stuart son, okay? He cares for me and Ally, but Ram's special to him. He was closest to Mary, and he took in Ram when... well, Mary had Ram call Stuart. So Stuart's more than a little protective over him, especially after everything that happened."

Stuart should have done a better job right from the start, should have kept his sister from... Andrew was tired of thinking about all of the many ways that Abram had been messed up. Was tired of dealing with the mess. "And because of that... what? He's all for sending me away because of Abram's freak-out?" Because Abram couldn't even read the situation right and assumed that Andrew hated him?

There was more silence over the line, save for the sound of Jamie's even breathing. "If I'm guessing right here, it's just hitting him, that Ram and you... well, I figured there was a reason that Ram put up with having you around. And now Ram's doing something about it."

"I wouldn't go that far," Andrew told her, his tone a bit sour just then.

"Really? It may take my cousin a while to figure things out, but he can be stubborn when he gets something stuck in his head. Fair warning, Minyard.” Now Jamie sounded amused.

"And what about me? Seems that I'm part of this equation, right?"

That made Jamie fall quiet again, at least for a couple of seconds. "If you're unhappy about the way things are turning out, then come see me and I'll find you a new position, no questions asked," she offered. "But I've a feeling you'll be pleased to know that I'm looking at sending the two of you out of town for a short while."

Andrew thought about that, thought about Abram's earlier call in Chinese and rubbed at his forehead. "Where?"

"I've one or two places in mind, so I'll let you know soon. Just be prepared to leave and keep him safe." Then she hung up.

Well, that had been marginally better than dealing with a pissed-off Nicky, he had to admit. Marginally. Nice to know that someone was giving Stuart some grief, a few of those implications aside....

 _Why_ was it such a big deal that Abram had allowed Andrew to watch over him?

What was up with Jamie's warning?

And what was Stuart so worried things?

Done with everything for the time being, Andrew left the mess in the kitchen for Abram to deal with whenever he decided to stop running away and went up to his own room.

*******

Abram was on the treadmill when Andrew showed up in the exercise room, appearing to have gotten as good a night of sleep as he had; Abram missed a step and fumbled to catch up, to keep from slamming into the console. He thought he saw a flash of amusement on Andrew's face, but then the man was turning around to deal with the weights and that was that.

Abram finished with his run, the work-out feeling good after the last two days, and then went upstairs to wash off the sweat, his limbs trembling a little from the strain and lack of, well, okay, yeah, breakfast today. Something more than toast and tea. He pulled on some cotton pants and an old sweatshirt (what Stuart and Jamie would consider 'old') and went back downstairs, where he decided to try something other than omelets for once. Pulling out his phone, he debated on what to make, checked the fridge, and thought that maybe he could handle french toast. It was just bread and eggs and milk, right? And a little cinnamon. Wait, the recipe called for vanilla. Did they have vanilla? He scrambled through the cupboards and found a bottle, next to the cinnamon. What the hell? Along with a few other spices he had no clue about, but he'd... okay, he'd talk to Bren later. Or had Nicky bought the stuff? Abram remembered the fancy hot chocolates that Erik had made the one night during the couple’s visit.

Whatever. French toast.

He had just put the skillet on the range and was beating up the egg mixture when Andrew came into the kitchen, a whiff of sweat and cigarette smoke that made Abram want to relax for some reason, despite having his hands full. "What the hell are you-"

"No," Abram snapped, refusing to be side-tracked when he was making the bastard breakfast. "Go away."

"What?"

He didn't even turn around, just made a shooing motion with his left hand. "Get out of here, I'm busy."

"Busy doing what?"

" _Go_!" The last thing Abram needed was Andrew distracting him when he was trying out a new recipe, dammit.

Andrew was quiet for a couple of seconds. "I'm washing off then grabbing the fire extinguisher. Try not to burn the place down until then."

"Oh fuck off," Abram muttered as he snatched up the bread slices. _One time_. Well, mostly one time. And he was never making pancakes again.

The next ten minutes or so were... okay, french toast was _not_ Abram's favorite breakfast to make, he'd decided. It was messy and hectic and what was wrong with perfectly normal toast? One or two slices turned out a little dark (there was still no need for the fire extinguisher, though, and the smoke alarm did _not_ go off), but all in all, it seemed... okay, maybe he should stick to omelets and scrambles.

Still, he'd been so focused on the damn breakfast, he hadn't realized when Andrew had returned, _with_ the damn fire extinguisher. "Mark the day down, a new breakfast and the kitchen is still standing."

"Go to hell," Abram told him without much heat as he slid a plate of the french toast onto the island.

Dressed in his usual all-black ensemble, Andrew stood there with his arms crossed over his impressive chest. Not that Abram noticed such things. Not at all. It was just that the black t-shirt fit rather snug that morning, across those defined pecs and broad shoulders and stop it, stop it _, stop it_ , Abram told himself as he ran his left hand through his hair and tugged on the strands.

"You first."

"What?" Abram frowned as he tried to make sense out of that. Him first what? A mental breakdown? Yes, that seemed very doable at the moment, thank you.

Andrew let out a slow breath as if running short of patience and motioned toward the plate of french toast. "You go first - I want to make sure it's edible."

Why the hell had Abram's very messed up head decided that _this_ person was the one he wanted? It was official, he really was having some sort of breakdown. "Fine," he snapped as he went to fetch some plates and silverware, while Andrew got himself some coffee. Abram selected one of the less... 'toasted' slices and cut off a corner, and did his best not to wince. "Ah, it's... I think it's the vanilla or something, it's a little sweet." He didn't like sweet, especially for breakfast.

Andrew stared at him for a couple of seconds before helping himself to the french toast. "You've never had it before?"

"No," Abram admitted. "There'd been cereal, back... well, once it was just my mother and I, it was stuff we could eat on the run, leftovers or bread and things like that." If they ate any breakfast at all. Normally they were sneaking out of places before anyone could see them, and Abram would just wait until later to have something to eat, a piece of fruit or a sandwich to tide him over until dinner.

He thought about those days, and how Andrew could make him talk about things he never told anyone else, even when they weren’t playing their 'game'. When he felt on tether hooks around the man because of what he'd said and done the day before, when he didn't know what he'd do at any moment because Andrew had his thoughts and emotions all twisted up. So he forced himself to pour some coffee and hold the mug between his hands while he watched the American cut up a slice of the flavored toast and take a bite.

Andrew chewed for a few seconds before giving a slight shrug. "Not bad. You might be getting the hang of this." Then he got up to fetch a bottle of syrup from the cabinet, which he poured all over the french toast; if Abram hadn't seen him do that to most of his breakfasts already, he'd be offended.

While Andrew ate the sweet mess, Abram had some simple toast and scrambled eggs, which suited him much better. He finished his breakfast and was cleaning up the dishes when Andrew approached him at the sink to slip in the dishes from the french toast, a warm presence along Abram's side. "Thanks, _babe_ ," he drawled as he stood there.

Unable to hold back a shiver both from the man's nearness and the warm breath hitting him on the neck, Abram turned off the water and turned to face Andrew. "You're welcome, _hon_ ," he taunted back, his hands falling to clutch at the counter.

"Am I?" Andrew edged in a bit closer. "So tell me, what are you going to do today? Given up on throwing me out of the place yet?"

"I don't know, I'm suddenly feeling inspired again," Abram admitted. "It would be nice to have some _space_." He put a bit of bite on that last word as a hint. Unfortunately, someone didn't seem to get it, since Andrew just leaned in even more.

"But if I do that, you'll just rabbit out of here like you usually do, right when things are get interesting. Can't have that, can we?"

Abram gritted his teeth together. "What things? I thought you didn't believe me. In me."

Andrew's expression grew thoughtful as he stared at Abram. "Why should I believe you?"

About to snap something stupid at the man, about how he didn't do such things every day, Abram forced himself to take a deep breath and not just lash out. "Because... hell, I don't know. I'm trying to figure this out myself," he admitted. "But you're the only person I've... I've felt like this for, that...." He shook his head as he toyed with the cuff of his left sleeve. "Everything's different with you. All these feelings... they're new."

"Then how do you know that you can trust them?" Andrew asked, his expression guarded even as he continued to lean in toward Abram.

"Because I trust you."

There was a harsh, indrawn breath and Abram thought that maybe Andrew would be the one running away that time, that maybe he'd finally pushed too far... but Andrew remained still as he studied Abram with those cool hazel eyes. After about a minute, he reached up with his left hand to gently grasp Abram by the back of the neck.

“Things like you don’t happen to me,” he breathed out as he inched closer.

“What? Stupid things?” Abram asked as he found himself unable to look away, then winced a little as Andrew’s strong fingers bit into his nape.

“I take it back – I can’t be imagining this, I don’t hate myself quite this much,” Andrew said.

“So glad to have helped you clear that up.” Abram scowled at the asshole even as his fingers itched to let go of the counter, to stroke along those muscles, to tangle in Andrew’s short blond hair. He didn’t understand this… this attraction. Didn’t understand _why_ Andrew (that was half a lie – he trusted Andrew. Andrew was intelligent and kept his word and _oh fuck_ , just standing this close twisted something up inside of Abram) and… and… Abram let out a shuddering breath as he fought not to close his eyes.

That seemed to be some sort of signal for Andrew. “Whatever… _this_ is, whatever we do, if one of us says ‘no’, that’s it, do you understand? If you don’t want me to do something, if you want me to stop, you say ‘no’. Understand? And nothing beyond what the other wants.” When Abram just stared at him, Andrew’s eyes narrowed in evident displeasure. “Abram?”

“Yes, I understand,” Abram said. “And the same for you,” he insisted. “When you say ‘no’.”

Andrew stared at him for a couple of seconds before nodding. Then his fingers slid more into Abram’s hair before he asked a question. “Yes?”

Abram looked at him for a couple of seconds before he felt his cheeks flood with heat as the situation became clear to him. “Ah, yes. _Yes_ ,” he repeated in a much firmer tone as he quashed down the sudden sense of panic that he felt – not at Andrew touching him, but at the thought of giving in to those new emotions. To something so new and powerful. Yet he did, because he did trust Andrew. The next thing he knew, Andrew was kissing him.

He wasn’t… people didn’t really kiss him. There had been the one girl before, years ago. Jain… Jain had done it once or twice, but that… that wasn’t what they did together. So it was something different to feel Andrew’s lips on his own, those fingers gently tangled in his hair, the soft touch on his jaw.

It made him feel a bit ashamed of his clumsy fumbling the night before, to be honest. So he stood there with his fingers digging into the hard countertop while Andrew continued to kiss him, with the firm press of lips against his own and the faint rub of stubble, until a slight moan slipped free. Andrew stilled at that, and then his tongue swiped along Abram’s lips, pressed a little into Abram’s mouth and he allowed that, allowed Andrew to deepen the kiss because it felt….

Abram had never felt anything like it, to be honest. Had felt his body grow so warm before because of another’s presence, felt that warmth and lethargy and stirring of pleasure inside of him just by someone _kissing_ him. By fingers rubbing gently against his scalp. By the feel of Andrew’s warmth and the scent of his shampoo.

Just when Abram shivered from it all and moaned again, Andrew pulled away, his fingers trailing along Abram’s neck for another second. He gazed at Abram with an inscrutable expression for a few seconds before giving a slight nod.

“Still… still think I’m some sort of a fantasy?” Abram managed to choke out.

“I’m beginning to wonder what was in the toast,” Andrew said. “But all right, yes, it’s real. I’ll put all of this down to your innate stupidity. You just don’t know any better.”

Abram stared at him as he felt the pleasure and desire begin to fade away. “You know what? I actually am going to buy into that theory. I _have_ to be an idiot to want you.”

That earned him a paper-thin smile. “Watch it there, _babe_. Don’t get all mushy on me.”

“Forget calling Stuart and asking him to reassign you, I’m calling Bren to ask him for a fucking clean-up,” Abram snapped.

“Temper. Then you’d be all alone when Jamie calls to tell us where our next assignment will be. Wouldn’t want that, would you?” Andrew finally backed off and went over to pour himself some more coffee. “Speaking of which, better start packing.”

Abram ran his hands through his hair, his fingers resting on his nape which still felt warm from Andrew’s touch. “We’re going somewhere?” Dammit, his cousin was interfering – what about Jain?

“Yes, sometime very soon. So get to it.” Andrew gave him a two-fingered wave before leaving the kitchen.

Torn between annoyance and disappointment at the moment, Abram finished cleaning up the kitchen then debated calling Jamie before he decided he’d had enough for the time being. Then he went to his room to work in peace and quiet for a little while, and wasn’t surprised to get a message telling him that he was going back to Stuttgart for the foreseeable future.

*******

Andrew sat next to Abram on the plane and pretended to read his e-book while the idiot worked on some document, ‘grey’ eyes downcast and hair pulled back in a silver clip. Impeccably dressed in one of his dark grey suits, he had drawn eyes as they’d entered the airport, not that he’d noticed the attention. Not that he noticed the way the flight attendant smiled at him when she came over with a tray of drinks and asked if he wanted anything. Yet Andrew caught the hitched breath when he leaned over and rested his hand on top of Abram’s arm and gave the woman a bored look while he accepted a flute of champagne, noticed the slight flush as his breath hit Abram’s cheek.

He still didn’t understand why _him_ , why Abram wanted _him_. He wasn’t under any disillusions about himself – yes, he worked out so his body was nice. Could be considered more than nice, what with the effort he’d put in these last few months, mindful of his new ‘occupation’. Of how the advantage of strength and speed would be in his favor, and that people saw ‘short’ and usually assumed ‘weak’ despite the breadth of his shoulders and everything else. But Abram was surrounded by a lot of men with impressive physiques (and some of the women were rather toned if not down right ripped as well, if he had any inclination to swing that way). As for looks, Andrew’s were average, maybe a little better. Pleasant. Easy to look at, easy to forget. Nothing that had made any of the foster families want to keep him, nothing that had made him stand out.

So it had to be something more than the physical. He wondered if perhaps Abram was demi, was someone who needed more of an emotional attachment to want someone. If so, maybe Andrew was the first person he’d ever really spent any time with, had a chance to form any real emotions with and so become attracted to?

Andrew… didn’t like that idea. Then he reminded himself that Abram had lived nearby Davis, Cal and Bren for a couple of years, that he hadn’t been completely isolated. So there was more to it than that.

Whatever the reason, Abram wanted him. After the kiss yesterday morning… Andrew couldn’t deny it. There hadn’t been any artifice in the British man’s response, to the way he’d kissed Andrew back, the hesitancy, the slight fumbling and uncertainty yet clear _yearning_ , those heartfelt moans. The way he’d held back on touching Andrew even as his hands had trembled, mindful of limits that Andrew hadn’t even spelled out.

Andrew couldn’t remember the last time a kiss had turned him on so much. He’d only ended it when there had been a strong impulse to pin Abram against the counter, to run his hands along that lithe body he’d seen covered in sweat-soaked clothes less than an hour before, to feel it arch against him and –

Okay, not a good idea to get so worked up while in public. He tossed back the champagne and called the attendant over to order a double whiskey, neat, while Abram stilled next to him. “Don’t pull an Ally on me,” Abram murmured.

That earned a scoff from Andrew. “Leaves a lot to interpretation, doesn’t it?” Dammit, he shouldn’t feel pleased when a slight smile tugged at the edges of Abram’s mouth; there hadn’t been many smiles from the idiot lately, not with all the shit that the Moriyamas and Nathan Wesninski were pulling, and then not with… whatever was going on between them.

They had a week or two to spend in Stuttgart, until Jamie called them home; she’d sent them there because she believed the security to be up to protecting them and the location ‘remote’ enough that Jain shouldn’t bother to pay it a visit. Abram was to do some research on various wineries, even if it was the beginning of February and he’d already investigated a good bit of them, and Abram was to keep the idiot safe.

Jamie obviously didn’t give a fuck about being ‘subtle’. Andrew didn’t care, as long as it kept the idiot away from Jain.

He had the whiskey but abstained from another drink, which wasn’t much of a problem since they landed in another twenty minutes. However, the airport was crowded due to it being a Monday, so Andrew reached out with some reservation to place his hand in the small of Abram’s back in order to remain near the other man; Abram stilled for a moment at the contact, but didn’t shrug it off or become tense, just gave him a curious look over his shoulder and then allowed Andrew to partially steer him through the crowd.

Andrew’s hand felt unnaturally warm, felt an odd tingle from the contact. It wasn’t bad, in fact, it was the opposite. It made him too aware of that he was touching Abram, made him wonder what it would feel like if there weren’t so many layers of wool and cotton between their skin. His expression settled on something cold as he stared back at the people looking at them, at the interested glances sent Abram’s way and the curious ones his, until people got the hint and looked away.

Micha and Joey were waiting for them outside; Jamie was serious about the security, obviously. Micha gave them both a slight nod by way of greeting while Joey smiled and grabbed their luggage to put in the back of the Mercedes sedan, asking them all the while if they had a nice flight and the such. Abram gave a polite answer in return, and sighed when he found out they were headed back to the Le Méridien Stuttgart (Andrew had found out that the hotel was one that Stuart favored, not Abram). Andrew didn’t really give a damn where they stayed, as long as the beds were comfortable, the bar was stocked, and the gym decent.

Micha followed them to the top floor, where they were staying. “Pardon me for stating this, but I believe it was made clear that you’re not to go anywhere without additional protection?” He flickered an apologetic glance toward Andrew while he spoke.

“Oh, look, we’re both being babysat now,” Abram said, his tone snide for a moment. Then he sighed. “Yes, Micha, it’s been made clear. I apologize for the additional workload.”

Micha smiled while he shook his head. “It’s not a problem.” He saw them to the door of their suite before he turned around and left.

Andrew dumped his luggage in the one bedroom closest to the door, then came out to fix himself a whiskey at the well-stocked bar. “You going to be pissy the entire time we’re here?”

Abram let out a long sigh as he undid the clip holding back his hair. “Give me a few minutes to wallow in it, all right, _hon_?”

“Anything for you, _babe_.” He tossed back the whiskey, then made up one of those gin gimlets the idiot liked. When he crossed the room to hand it over to Abram, he noticed the way that his friend’s lips twitched upon accepting the drink, the way those grey eyes lingered upon him as Andrew went to sit down on the nice, fancy couch.

They’d been dancing around each other since the kiss yesterday, had given each other some space and a lot of glances, but Abram wasn’t ignoring him. Andrew had the impression that it was more that the idiot had no idea of what to do next which… well, to be honest, Andrew wasn’t quite certain what to do himself. If it was Roland, he’d establish a few more ground rules, push the idiot against the wall and blow him, then get off himself. Oh fuck did he need to get off right about then, after all the recent nights of it being him and his thoughts revolving around a certain gorgeous idiot. It didn’t help that now he had a bit of a soundtrack to go along with the visual, had the sensory input of Abram’s lips and the feel of his hair tangled around Andrew’s fingers.

All right, not something to think about while sharing a hotel room with the object of his fixation.

Abram finished his drink then set the glass down on one of the side tables while he undid the top buttons of his light grey dress shirt. “So, did you let Nicky know that we’re in town?”

Andrew sighed. “Not yet.” At Abram’s curious look, he shook his head. “Along the lines of ‘pissy’, he was rather upset over my treatment of Boyd.”

“Ah.” Abram frowned while he tucked back a lock of hair falling onto his face. “Will we be staying in tonight, then?”

“No. Let me get this over with.” Andrew got up and refilled his glass before taking it with him into his bedroom.

After having about half of the whiskey, he pulled out his phone and dialed his cousin, who answered after the third ring. “Done ignoring me?” Nicky asked, sounding unusually surly for once.

“If you’re going to be to a dick about it, then I can hang up,” Andrew warned.

“Oh my god, you beat up a guy!” Nicky said, his voice loud and almost shrieking. “You beat up Matt Boyd! If it was Kevin or Jack or Troy, I wouldn’t have cared! But Matt! Why? So much hotness,” Nicky insisted with a hurt sniff.

Andrew considered his options and then went with the ones guaranteed to derail the pain in the ass. “He used extortion to see me and then hit on Abram.”

“I mean, did you see what you did to that – what? _What_?” Andrew had to pull his phone away from his ear at that last shriek, and hoped that Nicky wasn’t in the office just then. “He _hit_ on _Abram_?” So much for his cousin caring about him. “Matt Boyd? I thought he was straight! Dammit, you mean I missed my chance?”

“Nice focus, Mr. Klose.”

“Pshaw, he’s on the list, Erik wouldn’t have minded as long as I didn’t go too far,” Nicky insisted. “But really? He hit on Abram, huh?” Now Nicky sounded pleased. “Hmm, okay, you’re forgiven. Well, by me at least, but from what I hear, be very thankful that there’s an ocean between you and Dan.”

“Like I give a shit,” Andrew said. “Just stop bitching about it.”

“Will do.” Nicky fidgeted with something on the other end of the line. “So, when will you be able to stop over for a visit?”

Andrew slipped out onto the balcony so he could have a cigarette, unbothered by the cold and feeling a familiar spike of fear at being so high up. “We’re already here. Why do you think I’m bothering to talk to you?”

“Eh?” Nicky’s voice did that annoying high-pitched thing when he became excited. “You are? _Both_ of you? You and Abram?”

“Yes, both of us,” Andrew told him. “Why would I be here without him?”

“Well, it’s just… you _and_ Abram. The two of you. Getting used to you and someone. It’s a good thing. Really.”

Andrew should have brought the bottle of whiskey in with him, he thought as he stared down at the street below. “Whatever. Let me know when you want to meet up at the bar.”

“Yes! I’ll talk to Erik and get back to you!” Nicky tossed out a couple of probable times and then complained about having to get back to work, which was fine with Andrew.

He had another cigarette and then took a shower, grateful to feel clean after flying. When he left his room, he found Abram busy working on something, talking to Sabine in French while he typed away at his laptop. Andrew fetched his own laptop to resume working on his Chinese, which at that point was rather advanced, and waited for Abram to get off the phone so they could order some room service.

As soon as Nicky texted them with a time to meet up, Abram let Micha know that they’d be heading out and for someone to ‘babysit’ them. He appeared to be in a better mood about the whole thing now, probably because there wasn’t anything he could do about it and that he’d managed to get some work done.

Andrew had already changed into jeans and a sweater after his shower, so Abram took some time to freshen up before they went out; he wore a pair of grey jeans that Abram had seen several times before, but paired it with the light green sweater that Jamie had bought him for his birthday. Once again, Andrew wished that the idiot would stop dyeing his hair, though he had to admit the black color was striking with the green.

Micha joined them at the table of the small café where they ate but didn’t drink any wine, and Andrew found out that the man spent some of his free time racing cars he modified down on the Nuremburg track. He offered to take Andrew down there one day, and Abram just shrugged, seeming unconcerned about spending a day like that. “It might be interesting, willingly having people chase one for once,” he said with a flat smile. Andrew suspected that his friend would probably just stand around and watch, rather than try to drive.

For all of their issues in common, there were just as many that weren’t, he had to remind himself sometimes. Did Abram ever wish that his mother had abandoned him? Had given him up? Had set him apart from the Hatford and Wesninski legacies, even if it meant that he’d been raised by strangers?

Once at the Shriven Castle, Micha faded into the crowd while Andrew and Abram went up to the bar so they could wait for Nicky and Erik to arrive. Andrew paid careful attention to the people around them, just in case there was a repeat of the last time they’d been in town, but no one stood out to him, no one seemed to be too interested in them save for a lingering glance or two.

“So why whiskey?” Abram asked after Andrew had told the bartender their order. “Any special reason?”

Andrew considered the question as he stood beside his friend. “I don’t mind the taste, it’s got a strong enough kick for me, and it’s better than the cheap shit that I could usually scavenge, back when I’d take whatever I could get.” That had been beer, wine, cheap tequila and vodka, usually, and the occasional bottom shelf whiskey. But the good stuff? No, not easy to come across, and so it was easy to help remind him that he wasn’t back in California, that he’d left behind more than his old name and bad memories and powerlessness.

Abram appeared to consider the question for a moment and then gave a slight nod before he picked up his glass of red wine and sipped it. “Your turn,” Andrew told him. “You don’t seem to like it, how come?”

The glass of wine was set aside and Abram’s right hand crept along his abdomen, where Andrew remembered a particular vicious scar. “I don’t… I don’t like feeling drunk. Feeling out of control,” Abram admitted. “And she always picked up a cheap bottle of bourbon or whiskey whenever we… well, like you said, it has enough of a kick.” His other arm came around to wrap around his waist. “We couldn’t waste the time going to a doctor or an A&E – that or risk being tracked down. So we’d take a few shots and deal with it on our own.”

After seeing the scars on the idiot… Andrew couldn’t imagine having some of them stitched up with only a bit of whiskey in him. He wanted to know how old Abram had been during all of it but had a feeling it would only make him furious, would make him hate Mary Hatford all the more. Instead, he tossed back his drink and shook his head. “And gin’s that much better?”

Abram smiled, the expression a touch sad but a smile nonetheless, and picked up his wine. “Blame Jamie for that. She said I needed to get good and drunk one night and, well, it wasn’t whiskey.” He shrugged. “It was bearable.”

Because his mother hadn’t poured it down his throat while patching him up. Go figure.

They all needed their little crutches to get them through the day. Even more, to get them through the night. Didn’t it figure, that they both had their mothers to thank for that when it came down to it? No, Freud hadn’t been far off the mark on that one.

Hmm, Andrew wondered what Bee would make of Abram, if she somehow managed to get him tucked onto her couch with a cup of hot chocolate. Oh, but wait, he didn’t like sweets. And he was in no hurry to return to the States, either.

They had begun to talk about which vineyard to check out the next day when Nicky finally showed up, much too loud and excited for Andrew to greet with anything but disgust. “You’re here! Yay! Happy belated New Year! How are you doing? You look so good!” He tried to hug Andrew, but got a hand shoved in his face.

“Can’t you put a leash on him or something?” Andrew asked Erik.

Erik beamed at him. “We’re not into that. Just a little spanking now and then.”

“I think I’ll take that gin now,” Abram muttered as he rubbed at his eyes.

Nicky gave his husband’s left arm a playful punch. “Aw sweetie, don’t go sharing the fun details like that until these two start joining in and doing the same!”

“Definitely time for the gin.” Abram finished off his wine then turned around to face the bar while Andrew contemplated the best way to murder his cousin.

“Do you think I won’t choke you in front of all these people?” he asked while his fingers twitched.

Nicky’s eyes went wide as he took a step back from Andrew. “What, too soon? You’re not into the kinky stuff yet? Taking it slow?”

Andrew took a step closer toward the pest, but Abram latched onto his arm before he could do anything and tugged him back toward the bar, where another tumbler of whiskey was waiting. “Nothing in public,” he said in Mandarin.

“You’re no fun,” Andrew complained, but he left Nicky alive and had his drink instead.

A brush with death seemed to calm Nicky down, so the four of them (well, more Nicky and Erik) talked about the last few weeks and upcoming events in the area. Nicky picked Andrew’s brains about cars (he really didn’t know that much, unless they were fast and expensive and impractical), prattled on about the ‘hot neighbor’ (Andrew noticed the way that Abram’s lips twitched during that discussion), and then some movie that the couple had seen the previous weekend (which of course Abram had no idea about) that he thought would be a perfect ‘date’ movie for Andrew and Abram (obviously he was moving beyond hints). The whiskey was good, the meet-up got Andrew out of the hotel room and despite his tendency to run off at the mouth… Nicky could be amusing. Mostly. It was clear that he was trying hard to be funny and charming, and Andrew didn’t understand why his cousin went through so much effort.

He said something along those lines to Abram as Micha drove them back to the hotel, only it came out as more of a complaint. Abram was quiet for a moment or two (he might have switched to gin, but he’d nursed the couple of drinks during the night, much like he usually did with wine) before he spoke up. “Maybe because you’re his family? Because you bother to come and see him? No one else does, right? Not Aaron and definitely not his parents.”

Andrew thought about that as he stared out at the passing buildings; he could always come to Stuttgart and not call the pest, it wasn’t like Abram’s business intersected with Nicky that much. But Nicky had been an insistent pest and stayed in touch with Andrew, had refused to give up on him. It was also second-nature to look after his own after all these years, even if Nicky… well, Nicky was all he had left in that regard. And while Nicky had some sort of contact with the other Foxes, it wasn’t much more than the occasional chat or email, was just a loose network of staying in touch since the ‘monsters’ had come first and foremost before the rest of the team.

At least until they’d all graduated, and then it had basically been every man for himself: Kevin to the pro league and back to the Moriyamas, Aaron off to play doctor and house with Katelyn, Nicky off to German (and funny, how the one who’d gone the farthest had been the only one to not really go ‘away’), and Andrew to be swept up into the dull, boring real world. At least, until he met a certain mysterious Brit. So who else did Nicky really have? Oh, Andrew doubted that Nicky clung to him for that reason alone, but it was rather sad, that someone like Nicky was stuck with someone like him.

Micha saw them to their room and let him know that he’d be sending someone else along in the morning, a woman named Lisa, and wished them a good night.

Once in the hotel room, Abram went to stare out the windows for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face as he rubbed at his left wrist. Andrew checked the hotel room to make certain that everything was all right before they turned in for the night, then came back out into the main room. “You want coffee or anything?” He thought he might order a small snack from room service, a little hungry since it had been hours since they’d eaten.

“Hmm?” Abram turned to face him. “No, I’m fine.” He was quiet while Andrew placed an order. “So Nicky… does he… does he think there’s something going on between us?”

Huh, it had only taken the idiot how long to figure that one out. Andrew gave him a pitying look as he set down the phone. “Nicky loves to meddle.” Wait until Abram figured out what _Jamie_ was up to.

“Ah.” Abram winced as he let his left arm drop down to his side. “And… is that a problem?”

“Is what a problem?” Andrew bridged the space between them. “Nicky and his ridiculous ideas?”

Abram met his eyes as he drew in a slow breath. “I meant something going on between us.”

Well, that was unexpectedly forward of the man, wasn’t it? Andrew couldn’t say that he hadn’t thought about it himself ever since the kiss. “I’m not sure,” he confessed. “I don’t…,” he frowned as his mind locked up when he attempted to think of what to say. “I’m not sure there _is_ anything between us.” Anything other than a lot of frustrated want and attraction, and who knew how long that would last? Where it could lead. If it led anywhere.

“But if there is?” Abram asked as he continued to stare at Abram. “This… it doesn’t feel like nothing,” he said with a frown of his own. “It doesn’t-“ he broke off with a huff and shook his head. “This doesn’t seem like something simple, like a mistake.”

If it wasn’t a case of Abram’s hormones finally catching up with him, then no, it wasn’t. And that might be something too frightening for Andrew to consider. Yet all he did was reach for Abram’s hands. “Yes or no?”

That earned him a slow blink before Abram said ‘yes’.

“Then keep your hands here,” he instructed the other man as he lifted them to his shoulders, before he leaned in for a kiss. This time Abram was a little more certain, was a little less hesitant, and parted his lips after a few seconds.

He tasted of the limes from his drink, of limes and sugar, and his hair was soft beneath Andrew’s fingers. The faint moans he produced made Andrew hard as hell, made him want to slip his hands beneath those form-fitting jeans, want to taste more of him, but Andrew struggled to control himself and keep it just to kissing. Struggled to keep it to what he would allow if Abram wasn’t honoring his word, fingers massaging into Andrew’s shoulders as Andrew nibbled on Abram’s full bottom lip.

He’d just tightened his fingers in Abram’s hair and used that grip to twist the man’s head more to the side so he could trail his mouth along Abram’s jaw, which provoked another low, heady moan that made Andrew’s cock twitch when there was a damn knock on the door. Having forgotten all about room service, Andrew jerked away with a curse, while Abram actually went for a knife, his grey eyes wide and face flushed.

“Dammit,” Andrew muttered as he fussed with his sweater, grateful that it was long enough to – yeah, long enough. His first few steps were uncomfortable as hell until he adjusted himself in his jeans, and the hotel employee flinched when Andrew opened the door. After stammering out about the order, the poor guy hurried in to drop it off on the small table near the windows, with Abram nowhere to be seen.

Andrew had just helped himself to some coffee and pastries when Abram returned to the room, dressed in one of the hotel’s robes, his hair a bit damp as if he’d washed his face and splashed the water around a bit. He came over to filch a strawberry or two while wishing Andrew a good night; Andrew supposed that it was a bit much to hope to resume where they’d left off, but at least he wasn’t being ignored.

Still, he was getting tired of jerking off to thoughts of Abram, dammit.

Lisa turned out to be a pretty woman in her early thirties, around 5’8” without the low heels she was wearing, with dark brown hair pulled back in a high ponytail and designer jeans highlighting long legs. She didn’t show much emotion, but she possessed a wicked sense of humor she didn’t bother to hide, so Andrew approved – especially when she managed to ‘inadvertently’ spill her coffee onto some asshole who told her she’d look better if she smiled. Abram didn’t blink, just asked her to get Andrew another mocha latte while she was back in line so they didn’t have to put up with his whinging while they were out that morning.

“I don’t ‘whinge’, _babe_ ,” Andrew insisted. “It’s not even a real word.”

“You’re doing it right now, _hon_ , and I’m getting very tired of your one man war on the English language. English, as in, _from England_.”

“You haven’t begun to see me fight,” Andrew said as he folded his arms over his chest, and it was in the middle of that face-off that Lisa returned with the drinks.

“Oh, good, you two definitely won’t be hitting on me today, yes?” she asked as she handed over to Andrew his coffee. “Not like that last time I had to escort one of the family around.”

“Ally,” Abram sighed as he tugged on a stray strand of hair. “And no, definitely not.”

“Wonderful.” A slight, pleased smile curled her glossed lips as she motioned for them to leave the shop. “Then we won’t spend three hours or more getting lost today, especially since one of you just drank a lot of coffee.”

Yes, Andrew thought he might like her. He knew Renee would definitely like her.

They were checking a winery around the Ulbach area when Abram’s phone pinged to let him know about an incoming message. The slight smile he’d had on his face for most of the day vanished as he read through it, and even though they still had another two vineyards to go that day, he asked Lisa to take him back to the hotel. The woman merely shrugged at the change of plans and obeyed, while Andrew slid into the back seat of the BMW and waited for an explanation. All he got was silence, while Abram took to staring out the window.

Wasn’t that nice?

So Andrew took out his own phone and checked through his waiting messages: some were from Nicky, one was from Renee, a couple were from Davis and Bren to let him know what was going on back in London, and one was from Jamie warning him that Jain was arriving the following day.

What were the odds that Abram’s sudden change of mood had anything to do with that fact?

Much like Micha had done the previous night, Lisa escorted them to their room and informed them that she would probably be assigned to them the next day, if they had a need of her. Andrew gave her a slight nod in parting, while Abram went right into the room without saying a word. Annoyed at the idiot, Andrew followed and removed his winter coat then suit coat, bracing himself for what was going to happen next.

“Don’t even think to tell me you want to head back to London now.”

Abram, appearing to head into his bedroom, paused and spun around to face Andrew, also in the process of removing his outer coat. “What do you know about that?” His voice was quiet and his expression blank, as if he was in the process of shutting down. Shutting down, like that awful night in Paris when he’d come back from spending time with Jain.

“Just that Jain’s going to be there tomorrow, correct?” Andrew leaned against the wall between their two bedrooms. “Did he contact you?” Ask Abram to be there so he could get his ‘piece’ on the side?

“No,” Abram said after a moment’s hesitation. “His aide did – Li wanted to know if I would be available.”

“And what did you tell them?”

Abram rubbed at the back of his neck. “I… I haven’t answered yet.” He appeared conflicted over that fact. “What we’re doing here can wait, but Jamie will be upset if I leave.”

Jamie wouldn’t be the only person. “Then let me give you this to think about,” Andrew said as he pushed away from the wall. “You asked if there was something going on between us? I honestly don’t know. But I do know that there never will be if you’re going to be running off to another man’s bed every time he crooks his finger.”  With that said, he turned away and went into his bedroom.

Perhaps it was unfair of him to make that demand of a man he had only kissed. When he had no clue at all what the hell he was doing. After all, he’d never demanded that Roland be exclusive to him, nor Roland ask that of him. But he couldn’t trust someone to understand limits if they allowed another person to trample the hell all over theirs, if they were willing to make that big a sacrifice of themselves. Because Andrew knew only too damn well what it was like to take and take and _take_ ; maybe he’d been on the receiving end of it, but he knew it. And when he was with Abram? Oh, there was a sharp hunger lurking inside of him, a fierce desire to latch on and never let go.

He refused to be like those bastards, the ones who’d taken from him. But he also wanted to trust in that Abram didn’t want him because the idiot wasn’t looking for another Jain, another… that Abram trusted him for the right reasons.

So he nearly ripped the door leading to the balcony off of its hinges when he went outside to smoke a cigarette, the cold be damned, and wished that he’d brought the whiskey with him. Instead, he chain-smoked until his hands trembled from the cold and then went back inside so he could warm up in the shower, only to stand in front of the fogged up mirror afterwards and stare at the tattoo on his chest once he was done.

He didn’t regret the decisions he’d made in the last few months, or any of the things he’d done. But if the idiot went back to London tonight… Andrew just might have to take Jamie up on her offer to reassign him. Because while he was used to not getting what he wanted, he couldn’t go through having a taste of it again and then losing it – especially when it would then remain in sight but just out of reach.

Deciding that he wasn’t going to be able to sleep any time soon, he’d grabbed his e-book and had gotten through a chapter of a new book when there was a knock on the bedroom door. Tempted to ignore it at first, he set the e-reader aside after a couple of persistent knocks and figured he might as well get it over with and left the bed.

Oddly enough, Abram was dressed in what looked to be pajama bottoms with a long cardigan over a t-shirt, and not in a suit for a trip. “Uhm… I’m… well, we’ll be back in the vineyards tomorrow,” Abram said, his expression still closed off and his hair even more a tousled mess than usual.

It took a moment for Andrew to realize that the idiot wasn’t telling him that he was going back to London. “What about Jain?”

Abram shook his head even as he raked his fingers through his hair. “I told Li to pass on that I was busy. That if he had any questions I’d answer them through email.” His expression wavered a little then, allowed a hint of guilt to creep in; Andrew knew the emotion wasn’t for standing Jain up, but for the idiot’s family.

If a man was going to get his nose bent out of shape over being ‘stood up’ when he had enough money and influence to hire a dozen escorts, then the Hatfords needed to rethink their allies. Hell, Andrew doubted that Jamie would even have to hire anyone to take Abram’s place, that there would be plenty of volunteers eager for a nice night out and hopes of landing a closeted and rich sugar daddy.

Still, what was important just then was that Abram had indeed ‘stood’ Jain up. Andrew noticed that he hadn’t told the man to fuck off, just that he was ‘busy’. However, it was a start. It wasn’t rushing back to London to allow the man to use him in the name of the Hatfords. It was him staying here, with Andrew.

Andrew didn’t know why Abram had done it, still didn’t know why he wanted Andrew… but he gave in to the ever-present urge to slide his fingers through that tousled hair. “Yes or no?”

The guilt fell away as Abram stared at him. “Yes.” Then he allowed Andrew to lead him into the bedroom without any hesitation.

Andrew might not know a lot of things about what was going on between then, but he knew what he wanted to do with Abram just then, what he needed to do, and the idiot was offering himself up all nice and eager.

It couldn’t last, but Andrew would take it while it did.

*******

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> So, you're not missing much with the 'fade to black' at the end there and all. The boys aren't going to move very fast (as in, at all), at least initially. 
> 
> It did seem like a lot of feelings, this chapter, eh? Maybe I'll let them get back to the torture and stuff in the next one.
> 
> Poor Stuart, I imagine him stuck in like Nuuk, Greenland or something, on some ridiculous errand for Jamie, just stressing out about his poor baby Ram.... (not to knock Greenland, you know).
> 
> Actually, pity Davis.
> 
> And not to slander Andrew and his looks, just going by Nora's notes on the Foxes appearances. That and I think Andrew would be a bit like Neil in that regard - he might not dislike his appearance, but I can't see him thinking much about it. So he looks better than he thinks. And obviously he attracts some attention.
> 
> Also, a peek at how 'Abram' can spiral down and get off track (and some of the reasons behind it). He doesn't intentionally set out to push himself like that, he just lets himself get caught up in these bad cycles.
> 
> ... I think that was all I wanted to comment about here. Ask me if anything else jumps out at you.
> 
> Anyway, as always, the comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> *******


	9. Say It Right

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, sorry for the wait (so sorry!) but work has been... yeah, HUGE BALL OF STRESS. Let's leave it at that. Between that and I think I just had to take a couple of days to decompress after finishing WDWG... yeah, when I finally did get back into the groove for writing again, life didn't want to cooperate.
> 
> BUT, here it is! Already at work on the next chapter. Hopefully updates will be back on track. We shall see. Considering how RL is right now... maybe you'll want a new chapter as a distraction. And here you go! Uhm... yeah, not exactly a ball of fluff, right? I tried....
> 
> It's not explicit at all, but there's reference to past sexual abuse in this chapter.  
> *******

*******

Andrew stood back while Abram talked to the young woman about the small winery, attention focused on the almost dreary surroundings of dormant vines and stone walls. A few feet away, Joey paced back and forth as if affected by the chilly weather or bored, possibly even both, despite the thick leather coat he wore. After about ten more minutes, Abram gave the woman a polite nod and then exchanged goodbyes.

"About time," Joey muttered in English as he hurried to the car before them, then held open the door so Abram could slide in first. Andrew settled in beside his friend, and had to admit he was grateful to get out of the cold.

"So?"

Abram gave a slight shrug as he tucked his gloved hands into the pockets of his wool coat. "She inherited it late last year, and she'd be ever so happy to keep it in name if someone else wants to pay for upgrades and take over the management of the land. It was her grandfather's, and she doesn't really have much of an interest in running it, not when she has a life outside of the business. But she knows enough to help whoever does want to invest in it. I'm certain Xue and Uncle Will can find the right business partners for her."

Wasn't that nice? So it looked as if the past several days had proved useful after all, the cold weather walks aside.

"Any other place now?" Joey asked, which made Abram shake his head.

"Just the hotel. We'll probably head out later, but nothing for a bit," he said, which seemed to make Joey happy.

The ride back was quiet, with Abram and Andrew busy on their phones while Joey made random observations now and then. Andrew had a couple of texts from Nicky, asking if they were going to meet up for the night, another picture of Renee's latest project (he thought it might be a chicken coop. At least, he hoped it was a chicken coop, because he didn't think she was slipping back into certain old habits and willing to subject a human being to living conditions such as those), a rather plaintive text from Davis which implied that Stuart still hadn't gotten over his 'must protect poor baby Ram from the nasty American' phase (if only he knew), and of all things a request from Ally asking if he could borrow the McLaren for a 'hot date’.

"Question," Andrew said as he stared at that bit of idiocy.

"Hmm?" Abram looked up from his phone - what was probably a bit of translation work. "Yes?"

"Just how upset would Jamie be if I fed Ally his own liver?"

Abram actually seemed to ponder the matter for a few seconds. "Probably best to leave him a little, I hear they can grow back."

True, and then Jamie couldn't be that upset with Andrew; he nodded in approval and proposed such an exchange with Ally - an hour with the McLaren for Andrew feeding the moron two-thirds of his own internal organ. It didn't take very long for a response. "Hmm, he's not going for it."

"Ah, imagine that." Abram smiled a little as he resumed swiping on his phone.

As a precaution, Andrew sent a message to Bren warning him that a certain moron might try to break into the garage to 'borrow' the car, and ended up being filled in on what was happening back in London (not that much, oddly enough. It made Andrew a bit suspicious, how quiet things had gotten with him and Abram out of town).

Joey saw them to their hotel room and let them know that someone else, probably Saskia, would be by later if they went out, and they were alone for the first time in a few hours. Abram let out a low sigh as he undid the clasp holding back his hair then removed his coat, while Andrew threw his own coat onto the back of the one couch. "How much longer are we going to be stuck here?"

"Jamie let me know earlier that we can head back as soon as we wrapped up things with Weber, and I basically did that today," Abram said as he scrubbed his fingers along his scalp. "So I'll start looking for flights tomorrow, yes? Unless you want another day to hang out with Nicky?"

"No, I think I've had about enough of him for the time being. I'll let him know that we're heading back." Almost ten days of the pest had been enough.

"Try not to be so broken up about it," Abram told Andrew with a smile before heading into his bedroom, most likely to fetch his laptop. Andrew decided to go change, and had a cigarette as well before he returned to the main room.

By that point Abram was logged on, and had also changed out of his suit into a more casual outfit. Taking a minute to call room service for some coffee and snacks, Andrew then went over to lean against the table where Abram worked and look down onto the laptop's screen.

"No, not that early," he told his friend, since Abram was in the middle of booking flights. "I'm not putting up with the crowds or rushing to get out of here."

"Leave too late and we'll be stuck with traffic when we get home," Abram chided, but he hovered over some late morning flights, until Andrew nodded in approval at one that would leave around noon. "Lazy American bastard," he said as he clicked on it.

"Prissy British snob," Andrew shot back.

"Hmm." That sounded almost like an agreement; Abram continued to smile as he booked their flights, then sent the information to both Jamie and Micha. "It'll be nice to be back home."

It was odd that Andrew had come to think of their huge townhouse as 'home' as well, of London with its many districts the place where he now was settled. ‘Home’ had been such a foreign concept while growing up, had been something always kept out of reach, had been a cruel taunt that one time with Cass and a sick joke with Aaron. But now? Andrew had keys on the ring which held the fob to the McLaren, had memorized access codes and a comfortable bed in a huge fucking room that was all his, his own bathroom, his own _chair_ , and an idiot to share it with whom he didn’t mind.  For some reason, the townhouse felt more like ‘home’ than the house back in Columbia ever had, or his own apartment.

It _would_ be nice to be back there.

Abram had their flights booked and a ride to the airport with Joey arranged around the time that room service arrived, so Andrew got up to fetch his snack. “So, one last night out with Nicky and Erik?” Abram asked while he filched some of the apple slices and cheese before Andrew ate everything.

“Yes, and I’ll break your damn fingers, order your own food for once.” Andrew narrowed his eyes as Abram snatched at a strawberry, never mind that he didn’t care so much for all of the fruit.

“Hmm, give me a couple of hours to tend to this and I’ll be ready.” Abram made a show of eating the strawberry, all smug in his stealing, so Andrew didn’t think too much of leaning closer.

“Yes or no?” he asked as he rested his right hand near Abram’s left on the table, and felt a bit of smugness himself at the way Abram’s breath hitched in response, at the way pink spread across those sharp cheekbones and a pink tongue swiped along a full bottom lip.

“Yes,” Abram breathed out, so Andrew bridged the gap between them for a brief, gentle kiss that was little more than a press of lips, was just a reaffirmation to him. A reaffirmation that he had control of himself, that Abram still respected the boundaries between them, that Abram still wanted him. Reaffirmations he received when he managed to pull away without going any farther, when Abram allowed him to pull away yet let out a needy yet disappointed moan.

“Get to work,” Andrew said as he picked up the plate of snacks and took it with him to the other table closer to the windows.

“Fucking hell,” Abram muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair, his expression murderous for a moment before he schooled it into something much more calm then forced his fingers back onto the keyboard. “You’re an ass,” he said, much in the tone of a person declaring the weather.

Andrew didn’t dispute the fact, he just continued to munch on a shortbread cookie.

Once the food was all gone, he got up to dump the plate on the tray then poured himself some coffee; after fixing the cup, he was ‘kind’ enough to pour some for Abram, who at that point was so involved in work that he merely nodded to Andrew in thanks. Appetite appeased for the moment, Andrew took his coffee into his bedroom, where he texted Nicky about meeting up for the night, along with the warning that they’d be leaving the next day.

There were a couple of dramatic texts in return along the lines of ‘nooo!’, but eventually the pest invited them over to dinner rather than a meet-up at the bar. Andrew told him it was fine as long as there was enough alcohol, and spent the rest of the afternoon reading until it was time to go.

The sight of Abram dressed in regular skinny jeans and a baggy sweater dark enough to almost be black, his hair tousled as if he’d just stepped out of the shower and barely did more than towel it dry… that time Andrew wanted more than just a casual kiss, and after struggling with the impulse for several seconds, decided to give in to it. Judging from how quickly Abram answered him, barely giving him the time to ask the question, he’d say that someone might have been a bit frustrated since that earlier kiss.

Abram let out a low moan as Andrew pressed him against the wall; Andrew had learned Abram was fine with that as long as Andrew didn’t go for his wrists. Never anything with his wrists, and never surprise him from behind. Never try to force him to turn around or down. Abram knew not to touch Andrew anywhere without Andrew’s express permission, to not try to box him in or hold onto him, to hold him down. Not that they’d really _tried_ those things… not so much while they mapped out this… whatever between them. While they fumbled along with their ‘yeses’ and ‘nos’. Much of it they’d figured out over the past few months, and the rest had been clarified the past ten days or so.

So yes, Andrew had Abram up against the wall, because he knew it was safe, knew Abram didn’t care as long as his hands were free (as long as he could go for his knives), his hands light on Abram’s hips and Abram’s gentle on his shoulders as he mouthed along the idiot’s neck, beneath the hinge of jaw on the right side. He enjoyed the feel of Abram shivering against him, the faint moans each lick and nip produced and the low groan when he began to suck in earnest, the way Abram’s hips would rock a little and then stop for a moment, only to start again a moment later as if he was trying to figure out what he was supposed to do just then, just what was acceptable and what wasn’t and then Andrew would use his teeth to make him moan and jerk forward.

Andrew had just slid the tips of his fingers beneath the sweater to stroke along warm skin when there was a knock on the door, which made Abram still and him curse; dammit, Saskia. Saskia and Nicky and Erik. He pulled away from a flushed Abram, turning around so he could adjust himself in his pants before stalking off to the door, where he found the blonde woman waiting with her arms crossed over her chest and even tapping a booted foot. “What?”

“You still going out or what?” she asked, her tone as surly as her expression; Saskia had excelled at the Kevin Day School of Charm. “I’ve got better things to do tonight than babysit.”

“So sorry to inconvenience you,” Abram said as he came up beside Andrew. “Should I ask Micha to assign us someone else?”

All of a sudden, some of Saskia’s attitude fell away. “No, it’s fine,” she told Abram with a slight smile – at least until she noticed the new hickey on his neck, and then she glared at _Andrew_. “Come, let’s go.”

“Yes.” Abram nodded as he pulled on his own coat, and Andrew was mindful to place a hand in the small of Abram’s back as he steered the idiot toward the elevator, just to annoy Saskia; he didn’t know if the woman had a crush on the idiot, just wanted to look good in front of the ‘boss’ or was annoyed that Andrew was ‘sleeping’ with upper management instead of her, and didn’t really care. Well, okay, he cared a little, enough to annoy her about it.

She dropped them off at Nicky’s apartment building, and Andrew noticed a particularly tall and rather muscular individual hovering around the entrance to the building, a young man who gave Saskia a slight nod before she drove off to park nearby; he’d take a wild guess and say that this was another of Micha’s people, the neighbor who had to put up with Nicky’s drooling attention. Andrew gave him a sympathetic look (well, for him) in passing as he and Abram went inside, and soon enough found their way to the small apartment that the Kloses’ called home.

“Welcome! It’s not much, not compared to what you have, but we’re happy with it,” Nicky said as he showed Abram around the place.

The smile on Abram’s face just then was genuine. “No, it’s very nice,” he assured Nicky. “It’s… it’s very you.”

That made Erik’s grin even wider and prompted a smiling Nicky to throw his arms around Abram; Andrew could tell that his friend had to force himself not to react to the embrace, and reached out to smack Nicky in the back of the head. “Let him go, you pervert, before I stab you.”

“Ow! So violent,” Nicky complained with a pained sniff. “But fine, I get it, he’s yours, no touching.” That made Abram blink in surprise while Nicky’s grin returned. “So, drinks, yes? Dinner will be ready soon!”

“I hope you like pasta carbonara,” Erik said as he went to fetch a plate of appetizers while Nicky opened a bottle of wine. Andrew didn’t care as long as he was fed, and as long as they kept the liquor flowing.

It was a bit cramped in the apartment, but Nicky was mostly glued to Erik’s side for the night and it wasn’t bad, having Abram by Andrew’s. They were used to each other from living together, and after the past week or two… yeah, it wasn’t so bad. They weren’t all over each other like Nicky and Erik, but Andrew didn’t mind having Abram’s heat soaking into his left side, in the occasional brush of their bodies against the other while Nicky prattled on about work and upcoming vacation plans with Erik’s parents.

At least Erik was a good cook so dinner was bearable, and Abram even talked a little during dinner, about some translating mistakes he’d made early on in his ‘career’ (Andrew was certain that the idiot was editing things a good bit). In-between the main course and dessert, Andrew got up to excuse himself for a smoke, leaving the apartment to step outside the building’s front door. He’d just lit up a cigarette when the door opened again, and he turned around expecting to see either Abram or the one neighbor.

Instead, it was Nicky, precariously balancing two glasses of wine in his one hand while he closed the door behind him, dressed in Erik’s coat. “So, uhm, it’s going good so far, right?” he asked, his expression hopeful.

Well, it had been going good, until the pest came out to bother Andrew. “Yes,” Andrew said as he blew smoke in Nicky’s face before he accepted one of the glasses.

Still, Nicky smiled, apparently happy over the reassurance. “I think so. We should have done this sooner.” He shoved his empty hand into a pocket while he sipped the wine. “Next time the two of you are here, we’ll do it again.”

Great. Still, Andrew supposed it was free food and drink, and better than a crowded bar. He alternated sips of the wine, which was decent, and drags on the cigarette, while he wondered if that was what Nicky had wanted to say.

He’d gotten about halfway through the cigarette before Nicky spoke again. “So, it looks like things are going well with the two of you.” When Andrew didn’t say anything, he gave a nervous laugh. “I mean… yeah.” Nicky motioned at his neck, around where Abram was sporting the new hickey. “They look really good.” He paused to have more wine. “Is it true what they say?” When Andrew remained quiet, there was another nervous laugh. “Uhm, you know, ‘gentleman in the street, a freak between the sheets?’”

In an instant, Andrew threw both the wineglass and the cigarette aside as he reached for his cousin, which made Nicky drop his own glass and let out a loud yelp. “Is there any particular reason I shouldn’t kill you right now? Or at least beat you to within an inch of your life?” he asked as he shoved the pest hard against the stone wall of the building.

“No! Dammit, Andrew, I’m sorry,” Nicky pleaded as he struggled to hold up his hands. “I’m sorry, I was joking.

“Not funny,” Andrew said as he gave Nicky a hard shake even while part of him wondered why he was so anger – Nicky was being Nicky. Still, he refused to listen to such shit about Abram. “Never say something like that again.” He shook the pest once more before letting go.

“I’m sorry,” Nicky repeated, tears in his eyes and breath hitching. “I just… I just was looking for a way to say something, all right? To bring up… I just wanted to talk to you.”

“And you thought insulting Abram was a good way to go about it?” Andrew looked down at the broken wineglasses and felt a bit of remorse over the discarded alcohol. “You’re a fucking idiot, good night.”

“No, wait!” Nicky lunged forward to latch onto Andrew’s arm, and despite flinching at the look he got in return, didn’t let go. “Please, just listen to me, all right? I just want to talk to you about what’s going on between you and Abram.”

“Nothing,” Andrew said as he shook off the pest.

Now Nicky’s expression turned serious, even as he held out his hands. “No, that’s not true.” He skirted around to block Andrew’s access to the door. “Look, I know something’s going on, and it’s not just the hickey, all right? I’ve never seen you like this with anyone. With _anyone_ ,” he stressed.

Andrew folded his arms over his chest and sighed. “You’re imagining things – being with Erik has made you even more of a romantic idiot than normal.”

“No.” Nicky stabbed a finger in Andrew’s direction. “Look, you _talk_ to him, Andrew! I see the two of you together, and you _talk_ to him! Not just ‘fuck off and die’ or ‘you’re an asshole’, but actual conversations,” Nicky stated with obvious delight. “You debate stuff – weird stuff, I give you that – but it’s these long conversations and you two being all snarky and not trying to kill each other and everything. It’s like you have this own way of communicating with each other, which means you get each other.”

That was… no, Andrew wasn’t buying into this shit. “We live together, we have to talk to each other.” Besides, he’d talked to Renee, hadn’t he? Maybe not quite so much, but he’d talked to her.

“Again, no.” Nicky shook his head. “I saw it even before then. You never had that with me or Aaron, or even Kevin.” His eyes narrowed in evident satisfaction. “You never had anything like that with Roland, either. Hell, the two of you were barely friends most of the time, why do you think it took forever for me and everyone else to figure things out?” he asked. “The most you spoke to him some nights was to order drinks!”

This was utterly ridiculous. “You’re imagining things because you want something to be there,” Andrew said. Because Nicky was a hopeless romantic. And a moron.

Nicky made a rude noise as he shook his head again. “And you’re in denial because you like being miserable, but again, _wrong_. It’s there,” he insisted. “Maybe not everyone can see it unless they know you like I do, but it’s there. Do you know you smile at him?” At Andrew’s blank stare, Nicky grinned. “Oh, not like most people smile, but you do, just a tiny bit. And you frown, too. Just when you’re talking to him. I haven’t ever seen you like that, until Abram. Not with Roland, not even with Renee or Betsy, not with anyone.”

Why were they even talking about this shit? “You mean you haven’t seen me like that since I got off the meds, right?” Andrew asked, with a deceptive quietness to his voice. One Nicky must have picked up on, because the grin was wiped away from his face.

“I mean no, one I’ve never seen before,” Nicky told him, expression serious once again. “Not when you were on the meds, not after them… and not even before them,” he admitted. “In all the time I’ve known you, Andrew, I’ve never seen such genuine emotion on your face.” When Andrew scoffed and shook his head, Nicky held up his hands. “It’s true! And the fact that it’s so subtle? So rare? Tell me that it’s not all the more real and important. That it’s not your real feelings coming out.”

“You’ve had too much wine tonight,” Andrew snapped as he yanked the pest away from the door.

“Maybe,” Nicky agreed as he stumbled aside. “Had to have enough to face you like this,” he said as he followed Andrew inside. “But it doesn’t make what I said any less true. I just want you to be happy, Andrew. It’s all I ever wanted.”

Andrew almost turned around to punch the bastard, but he couldn’t, not when Nicky had given up so much, had done so much for that very reason; maybe Nicky hadn’t always been right on what would make Andrew happy, but he’d tried. “Stay out of this,” he warned. “Don’t get involved with me and Abram.” There were a multitude of reasons why it was a bad idea.

“I just wanted you to be aware that he… he’s good for you,” Nicky insisted. “And I think you’re good for him, too – this is the most relaxed and open I’ve seen him in all the time I’ve known him. You’re good for each other. So do each other.”

“Really?” Andrew turned around to glare at the pest as they made their way up the stairs.

Nicky gave him a sheepish grin. “Uhm, it sounded better in my head?”

“There’s nothing _in_ your fucking head.”

Of course Nicky laughed at that; they got back to the apartment, where Abram gave Andrew a curious look and Nicky went into the kitchen to talk to Erik in hushed voices. Andrew just shook his head, and was quick to snatch at one of the new glasses of wine offered to him when Erik came out a minute or two later.

Dessert was some sort of custard with berries, which wasn’t too bad, especially when Andrew finished Abram’s after the idiot ate the fruit and nothing else. He pointedly ignored the satisfied look Nicky gave him at that, and declared that since he and Abram had an early morning flight the next day, they had to leave. To give him credit, Abram didn’t argue or call him out on the lie, just thanked Erik and Nicky on the lovely evening as they said their goodbyes.

Things were quiet until they got back to the hotel, where Abram leaned against the back of the couch and watched Andrew pour himself some whiskey. “So… it didn’t seem too bad to me.”

“Because you didn’t have to deal with Nicky and his ridiculous ideas.” Andrew drained the tumbler of whiskey in one go.

“Hmm, all right, I missed that conversation. Had to sit through Erik inviting us to some camping excursion, though, which I managed to turn down. Something about ‘bonding’ and ‘invigorating’ and several other rather disturbing adjectives, so you know.”

Andrew paused in refilling the glass to stare at Abram, whose expression was a bit blank at the moment. “Seriously?”

“Indeed.” Abram nodded once. “Told him I experienced a rather… negative camping experience as a child so no, it’s not a hobby of mine.”

“Hmm.” Andrew considered that for a couple of seconds. “Did you?”

Abram’s expression remained the same but his eyes grew shadowed. “Several, to be exact. We couldn’t always find shelter in cities when we were on the run, or risk it. But one in particular… two of my father’s men tracked us down outside of the Black Forest not too far from Strasbourg.” He paused as if thinking of something. “It was so cold that night, even colder when you have blood soaked into your clothes and no way of cleaning them.”

Andrew almost asked whose blood it had been, if it had been Abram’s or someone else’s… but it didn’t really matter, did it? Instead, he picked up the refilled glass of whiskey. “Just the once for me, but it was enough to make me never want to camp again,” he admitted. “He needed someplace to get me alone, after all.” The whiskey helped to wash away the taste of bile in his mouth.

They both were quiet for a couple of minutes, save for the sound of Andrew refilling his glass. “Yeah, no camping,” Abram said, his voice low and devoid of any emotion. “Wouldn’t it be interesting one night, to wrack our brains to come up with something that isn’t a fucking trigger from our childhood?” He stared off at something on the far wall as he spoke, his left hand raised to rub along his right bicep – at the red poppies hidden beneath the sleeve, Andrew was willing to bet.

The comment wrung a weak snort from Andrew. “I’ve already paid enough into one shrink’s retirement fund, thank you.” Well, Palmetto State had, technically.

That made Abram look at him, with something resembling horror. “A shrink. Hell no.”

Sayeth the man who could use a good fucking deal of therapy, Andrew thought to himself. Oh, how Bee would have her hands full with the lovely Abram. “Don’t worry, _babe_ , I adore you as you are, with those many, many, _many_ issues and all,” Andrew said, voice thick with sarcasm.

“Go to hell, you prat,” Abram said as he made a rude gesture in Andrew’s direction.

“ _Many_ issues,” Andrew murmured into his glass.

“I’m going to see if I can change our flight to six am,” Abram declared as he spun around. “And your seat to economy, _hon_.” His bedroom door was slammed shut with a bit of unnecessary force.

Andrew felt a good bit of satisfaction as he finished his whiskey, pleased as always to rile up Abram like that, to crack the polite ‘façade’ the man strove to show the rest of the world. He set the empty glass down then went to his own room, where he prepared a few things for the next day’s flight before going to bed.

Despite Abram’s threat, they left at the previously scheduled time, and Andrew wasn’t stuck in economy. He gave the idiot a pointed stare as he took his seat, to which Abram made a rude gesture. “Damn plane was all booked up,” Abram grumbled as he secured the seat belt.

“Hmm.” Andrew sprawled out as much as he could in his own seat, his right foot knocking into Abram’s. “What, there a seat for each of your issues or something?”

“You say that as if you have no knowledge of the things. Tell me, feel like going through regular security today? How about from now on?” Abram asked with a slight smile.

It was Andrew’s turn to make a rude gesture, right before the flight attendant came over to see if either of them wanted a drink. Needless to say, both of them took him up on the offer, and it was a rather quiet flight back to London.

Bren took one look at them when they stepped outside of the airport and shook his head. “Right, can see that you’re both so happy to be back.”

“Back home? Yes,” Abram said as he handed over his luggage to the man. “Please tell me that Jamie has some work lined up for us.”

“Ah, don’t think so.” Bren glanced over at Andrew, who just shrugged as he left his luggage at the curb before climbing into the back of the car for a quiet ride to the townhouse.

Abram seemed to snap out of his foul mood as soon as they reached home, which made Bren relax while he helped to carry the luggage inside; Abram dropped the laptop bag and his coat at the island and went to put on some water for tea, even offering Bren a cup. The enforcer turned it down with an excuse of having a few errands to run, and told them that he’d stocked up on things in anticipation of their arrival before he left.

Andrew checked the cupboards and the fridge while Abram stood by the electric kettle, and was pleased to note that there was plenty of ice cream and other sweets, as well as whiskey. He grabbed the bottle of Baileys and a packet of cookies, the first of which he set down by Abram.

“Thank you.” Abram sounded back to normal just then, his expression almost peaceful as he filled the waiting pot with tea leaves. “So, we’re back, but no word on what Jamie will have us do next.”

Andrew considered that as he munched on a couple of cookies; he wondered if perhaps that had been behind his friend’s off mood that morning. “You think she’ll keep us locked down again?”

“I think… we can’t continue like this,” Abram admitted. “There’s no telling how long this will drag out, the situation with the Moriyamas and my father. One hopes that they figure out the succession thing soon… but there’ll always be an issue as long as I’m still running around.”

“No, as long as they fail to realize that they have no claim to you,” Andrew told the idiot. “We hurt them enough, they’ll figure it out.”

Nothing else was said while Abram fixed the tea, his motions so controlled that it didn’t take much to figure out that he really wasn’t happy at the moment. “Funny thing is, they keep hurting us while we try to hurt them.”

Yeah, slight flaw in the plan there.

“So what, you feel better when you’re carving up people? And you’re worried about me leaving surprises in the garbage.”

Abram stared down at the counter for a couple of seconds before he turned around to face Andrew. “I feel better doing whatever needs done to protect my family,” he said, his eyes intent and a hint of that cruel smile on his face. “Try to tell me that you don’t understand that.”

After killing Tilda for Aaron? Beating up those men for Nicky? Yeah, somehow Andrew doubted that Abram would buy anything but a ‘yes’, especially after their ‘game’. “You didn’t say anything about the carving part.”

That made the smile falter and Abram look aside. “I don’t like it,” Abram admitted. “But sometimes it feels good.” He let out a slow breath. “It feels good to make someone else hurt when I know they deserve it.”

Because there was always so much hurt, wasn’t there? So much hurt and pain, and so many people who deserved it.

“What did I say about those issues of yours?”

It took Andrew a moment to realize that the growling noise was coming from Abram. “I think I’m talking to the biggest bloody issue right now, _hon_.” Abram looked over to glare at him while he snatched up the bottle of Baileys.

“Wow, don’t I feel special,” Andrew said, which provoked a slight huff from Abram.

“I’m sure you do.” Abram fixed one mug of spiked tea and then arched a brow at Andrew, who nodded. “And I think it’s much the case of a pot calling a kettle black, having you harp on issues.” He fixed another mug then handed it over.

“I never said otherwise.” Andrew just gave a blank look when Abram huffed again, before walking off with his tea and cookies.

They did their own things for the rest of the day, settling back into the house and their routines, such as it was; Bren appeared pleased for some reason when he dropped off some take-out and found Abram busy working at the island and Andrew reading in his chair out in the living room.

It took two days before Jamie had them do anything, and by that point Andrew had to agree that Abram was right, that it was ridiculous for her to think she could hide her ‘little cousin’ away from the world. So despite the dreary weather, he didn’t mind driving around to help track down a couple of morons who thought to hit some family protected businesses, eventually coming across them all the way out in Haringey. Andrew was pleased to note that his Chinese had improved enough that he could follow along while Abram questioned various people and even help out until they tracked down the wannabe thugs in a small apartment, and beating the fight out of them relieved a good bit of frustration as well.

He leaned against a damp wall while Abram placed a call to Jason, the day’s rain having finally let up, filled with of a sense of peace despite his reddened knuckles and empty stomach. As soon as Abram was done, the Brit came over to slump next to him. “Den will be here soon to take care of them.”

Andrew gave a slight grunt at that while he eyed Abram sideways, at the way the humidity made his friend’s dark hair even wavier and the slight, pleased smile on that too-attractive face. “We have to stick around for it?”

“Yes, but from the sounds of it, he’s only about fifteen minutes away.” Abram let out a slow moan as he straightened his back. “Miss the fire on days like this,” he complained.

“Such a baby,” Andrew drawled.

“Hmm.” Abram stared out at the town around them, the bits of winter-faded green and small shops, the people hurrying past them and doing their best to not seem to pay any attention; they stood out _just_ a little with the McLaren and their expensive clothes. Andrew couldn’t wait until they got back to London proper. “Always hated places like this. They were difficult to blend into, when everyone knows everyone else.”

Andrew had hated them, too. There never was a chance for him to fit in, to find a spot of his own – no one wanted to give him a chance. Not the sullen, closed-off, cast-off kid. “Nothing good here, anyway.”

Abram smiled a little. “I imagine you’d exhaust the take-away places within a month. And where would you be without your triple chocolate ice cream?”

“Chocolate brownie fudge, you heathen,” Andrew told him as he flicked ash at the idiot.

“Why even bother? Just dump the cocoa and sugar down your throat and be done with it. Cut out the unnecessary milk and whatever else.”

“Then just eat a bunch of leaves and don’t bother with your precious tea,” Andrew argued back – and it was then when it hit him. Dammit, Nicky was _right_. _Fuck_. _Nicky_ was _right_.

“Ah, back to the stereotypes,” Abram chided as he tucked back the hair falling onto his eyes. “Yes, yes, it’s all about the tea… ah, is everything all right? You look… uhm, did you get hit back there or something?”

“Not quite,” Andrew said as he wondered if he could manage a quick trip back to Stuttgart to throttle his cousin. Okay, so what if he talked a lot to Abram? It didn’t mean anything. The man was just fun to rile up and could manage a semi-decent comeback. That was all.

It didn’t mean anything. There was nothing between them.

Well, yes, Andrew wanted him, but that was it.

Dammit.

Nicky was dead.

He was relieved when Den finally showed up to take care of the unconscious morons in the apartment, and if he drove a little too fast on rain-slick roads back to London, Abram didn’t complain. Bren had dropped off some food while they were gone, so Andrew grabbed his container of Indian food and most of the naan, along with a bottle of whiskey, before heading off to his room – just then, he didn’t need to deal with Abram. Oh no, he most definitely didn’t need to deal with Abram.

So what if they talked a lot? They lived together, that was normal, right? Despite being an idiot, Abram could be insightful. It wasn’t bad, talking to him. Well, as long as he didn’t bring up Jain and the Moriyamas or his father. As long as he didn’t talk about giving up.

Andrew had just convinced himself that Nicky was full of shit (really, why had he ever thought otherwise?) when his phone pinged. Wondering if it was Bren checking up on things or maybe Nicky tempting fate, he picked it up and then frowned at the blocked number. Huh, yeah, that wasn’t odd, he told himself as he took another sip of whiskey.

Still, no reason not to check it out, so he clicked on it. Then he sighed, not really in the mood for a bunch of cryptic shit after the day he’d had.

‘Nathaniel’s not the only one running from his past, Doe.’

Really? That type of shit didn’t even rate a pathetic horror movie. Andrew set aside the empty take-out containers on his nightstand before he typed a message back to the moron on the other end. ‘Nope, don’t do running. Fuck off’

It didn’t take long before he got a response. ‘Leave now or that past will find you’

Andrew found the rudest emoticons he could, sent them and then threw his phone to the bottom of the bed, done with the matter for the night. His past? Right, he was wallowing in it at the moment, dealing with the fucking Moriyamas and their shit, with the stupid mind-games and threats and everything. No wonder Abram was so fucked up, if he’d put up with everything for so long.

That done, he had another sip of whiskey, then set the bottle aside and grabbed the containers before he left the bedroom, more interested in making sure that a certain idiot wasn’t doing anything stupid than reading boring texts or dwelling on Nicky’s insanity any longer.

*******

Abram checked the numbers for Jamie once more before he nodded. “I think it’s all right now, but I’d have Caroline do the tax conversion, just in case.”

“Have every intention of sending them off to her, but you’re more familiar with the foreign currency so I like to double-check with you on this stuff,” she explained as she closed the file.

“They have software for these things,” he told her with a smile.

“Yes, and there’s these things called ‘redundancies’ and the saying ‘measure twice, cut once’,” she said with a little bit of a bite to her voice. “You don’t have to fix things if you don’t fuck it up in the first place.”

He considered that for a moment before he spoke again. “How did things go with Jain?”

Jamie was quiet as she got up to fetch two glasses and the bottle of gin, which made Abram cringe a little. However, she didn’t pour more than a shot’s worth into each glass, and her expression was calm as she handed over his. “Things are fine, little cousin. I got the impression that it was more of a routine visit, was him passing on a few things and gathering information for Xue, who’s pleased with the arrangement.” Her jaw tightened for a moment. “He should be, considering how much money we’re pulling in.”

Abram tossed back the liquor and just barely managed to not grimace. “That’s good, I suppose. Anything else?”

His cousin was quiet as she downed her own shot of gin. “Jain asked about you, if you would be back before he left.” When Abram stilled, she reached for the bottle and refilled his glass. “I didn’t get the impression he was angry that you were gone, just a bit… disappointed.” She stared at him as he picked up the glass. “Maybe… maybe he won’t care if you’re unavailable more often. Or permanently.”

“Maybe,” Abram echoed, his voice rough from more than just the gin; he set the empty glass down and motioned for Jamie to refill it again. Maybe… and maybe not. He didn’t want to think about that just then. He’d have to at some point because of Andrew, but not then.

Jamie continued to regard him for several seconds before she sighed and set the bottle on the far side of the desk, a clear sign that she didn’t want him to get drunk. “Well, something to think about, yes?” All right, they needed a different topic if she didn’t want him to get drunk.

“What about Uncle Stuart?” he asked after he finished the third shot. “How much longer are you… I don’t know, keeping him exiled?”

“I don’t know, how are things going with you and Andrew, hmm?”

“Fuck,” Abram moaned as he ran his hands through his hair and gave a longing gaze at the bottle. “Really?”

“Yes, _really_ , little cousin,” Jamie said with some sadistic satisfaction; where the bloody hell were the people who thought she didn’t have what it took to lead the Hatfords, hmm? Who thought she was too fucking _soft_ , of all things? Abram wanted them here to see this, and then to stab them – why should he suffer alone? “Come now, tell me everything.””

“You’re a cruel bitch,” he started.

“Yes, yes, I know that,” she agreed. “Move it along – you and Andrew.” She picked up the bottle of gin and waved it about, as if an incentive.

He moaned a little as he tucked back his hair and shook his head. “I don’t… I don’t know.” When she frowned, he shook his head. “Honestly. I mean… he… oh hell.” He buried his suddenly flushed face in his hands.

“You like him, right?” Jamie stroked her fingers through his hair as she spoke. All Abram could do was give a slight nod in return, which made her tug on a couple of strands. “Okay, that’s good. He seem to like you?”

That made Abram look up and sigh. “I… guess?” When she frowned at that, he shook his head. “We do… stuff.” Fuck, he was blushing, wasn’t he? “I don’t think he’d do it if he didn’t… oh hell, don’t make me do this, all right?”

Jamie tucked back a lock of his hair while she poured him a little more gin. “Okay, I get it, I think. And to answer your question… I think I’ll give Uncle Stuart a few more days before I call him back.” At Abram’s frown, she shook her head. “He’s not going to be happy with Andrew, you do know that, right?”

“But why?” Abram’s frown deepened as he picked up the glass. “He’s the one who hired him. As long as I’m not asking him to reassign Andrew anymore, why does he care?”

“Oh, Ram.” Jamie filled her own glass that time. “He thinks he’s looking out for you.”

Okay, that didn’t make any sense. “So he’s looking after me by first forcing Andrew to be my babysitter, and then by taking Andrew away.” Nope, still didn’t make much sense.

Jamie laughed at that. “He cares about you, isn’t that so sweet?”

“Can you just give me the whole bottle now? Please?”

“Nope.” Jamie’s smile was a bit smug right before she tossed back her own shot. “Don’t want the Yank angry at me when he comes to take you home and you’re all pissed.”

“Thanks,” Abram muttered as he slouched down in his chair. “So, any more torture to inflict upon me?”

She laughed a little before pulling the laptop closer and opening a couple of files for him to read over, mostly to check that the translation had been done correctly. He’d gotten through most of it before the door to Jamie’s office opened and Andrew leaned against the frame, the material of his black sweater pulling tight against his chest with the way his arms were crossed; all in all, Andrew radiated annoyed boredom.

“Done cooking the books yet?”

Abram arched an eyebrow at that. “Why, hoping for a pay raise?”

“Think I deserve it for putting up with you.”

“Yes, because the sports car and townhouse and wardrobe aren’t enough, right?” Abram picked up the empty shot glass and gave it a mournful look. “Give me a moment here, the sympathy is about to pour forth, really.”

Andrew shifted his gaze toward Jamie. “Do I need to say anything else?”

Meanwhile, she was smiling for some reason. “I’ll be sure to make a note of your valiant sacrifice. Thanks so much for looking after my little cousin so devotedly.”

That earned her a suspicious look from Andrew, who came over to snatch the glass from Abram’s hand. “Just how much have the two of you been drinking?”

“Not enough,” Abram confessed.

“Just like my damn pay.” Abram set the glass down and then wrapped his hand around Abram’s left arm; when Abram just looked at him, he clicked his tongue and dragged Abram onto his feet. “Come on, the sooner we get home, the sooner _I_ can start drinking.”

“Don’t you mean _we_?”

“No, I’m going to sit you down and make you watch, _babe_. I’ll get a damn bonus one way or another.”

While Abram glared at the bastard, Jamie just laughed. “All right, maybe I’ll be able to call Stuart back sooner than I thought.”

“Huh?” Abram stared at her in confusion, or at least attempted to but was dragged out of the office before he could puzzle out what she meant by that statement.

The bastard hadn’t been lying, either; Abram was pushed onto a stool at the island and made to watch while Andrew poured two rather full shots worth of whiskey as soon as they got home. The only thing that kept Abram from stabbing the prat was Andrew then coming over after knocking it back and asking him ‘yes or no’, was leaning in and kissing him with a mouth tasting of whiskey and cigarettes.

His fingers itching to muss up those short, blond strands, to stroke along the firm muscles beneath the soft black sweater, Abram forced himself to clutch at the base of the stool instead, to wait until Andrew told him it was all right. Along with the desire and pleasure was a low frisson of fear, of concern over doing something that would drive Andrew away from him, of hurting his friend.

Despite everything that had been done to Abram… well, that was _it_ , exactly. Things had been _done_ to Abram. Were told to him to do. Happened while he just – this was the first of him really _wanting_ anything. Of him wanting to do the best he could to make sure the person he was with enjoyed things, rather than just getting them off. Not that they’d gotten that far yet, not together.

He let out a small gasp when Andrew broke off the kiss and took to nibbling on the side of his neck instead, just below his left ear. Abram’s fingers dug into the padding of the stool at the feel of stubble along his skin, of moist lips and the faint scrape of teeth. “Ah… cah-can I… touch you?” he finally managed to stutter out.

Andrew dragged his teeth along the edge of Abram’s jaw before he answered, which made Abram moan; Abram had the suspicion that the bastard enjoyed drawing sounds out of him. “Just the shoulders,” Andrew said, before resuming kissing and sucking his way along Abram’s neck.

Dammit, it would be easier to turn the tables if Abram could tug on his friend’s hair, but… fine. Someone was probably still upset over the noises they had made when Abram had lavished attention on Andrew’s ‘weak’ point the other day. He’d noticed how the American did his best to keep quiet during these… well, did his best to keep quiet.

And Abram was told that _he_ had issues. He’d make a comment… but fuck, did it feel good, Andrew’s mouth on his neck just then. He shivered and dug his fingers into the bastard’s shoulders, pulled him a little closer as he closed his eyes and let his head loll back a little more.

Fingers slid through his hair and stroked down his back at the same time, stroked down to his waist and then paused there, until he gave a slight moan. Then they slipped beneath his sweater, only to brush along the small of his back in gentle little circles that made him shiver and jerk his hips, made him debate if it would be pushing things to get off of the stool and pull Andrew against him so they could grind together. Fuck, but all Abram could think about just then was Abram, was how good he felt and how much better it would be if they were pressed together.

So a cry of protest slipped free when Andrew pulled back, his hand sliding from beneath Abram’s shirt but the other remaining in Abram’s hair. He opened his eyes to stare at his friend, to take in the almost pained look on Andrew’s face before it smoothed out into blankness, and then Andrew leaned in again to rest his forehead against Abram’s.

“Is... are you all right?”

Andrew’s fingers tightened in Abram’s hair for a moment before they loosened. “Maybe we should-“

Of course then was when Abram’s phone went off, with the ringtone reserved for Jason; he glared across the counter while Andrew let go. “Dammit,” Abram muttered as he fumbled for the thing, nerves a bit… frazzled at the moment. “What is it?” At least he managed a more or less civil tone.

“It looks like we’ve a couple of Carcajou grunts who were trying to frame a few of our people down in Camden. I need you and Andrew to meet up with Ollie and Thomas to figure out what’s going on.”

He glanced over at Andrew to see if his friend had caught any of that, and saw Andrew nod. “All right, give us a few minutes to get ready and we’ll be out the door.”

“It’s appreciated,” Jason said. “Be careful. Jamie’s calling Stuart back because of this, but he won’t be here until tomorrow the earliest.”

“Understood.” Abram felt better knowing that his uncle would be returning, even if he didn’t comprehend why Stuart had an issue with Andrew.

Ending the call, he gave Andrew a slight smile. “So, seems like things are getting busy,” he said as they headed for the stairs.

“Which is good, but not sure it’s good enough to have to put up with your uncle again.”

Abram laughed at that. “You know you miss him.”

“No,” was all Andrew said, both his tone and expression more than a little sour. Abram didn’t bother to argue, he just hurried into his room so he could change into a suit and then they could be on their way.

However, when he looked in the closet’s mirror as he grabbed the first decent outfit, he let out a harsh curse; the right side of his neck was covered with a couple of darkening hickeys. Damn Andrew, and damn himself for not realizing things at the time. Abram scowled as he snatched up a scarf before he left.

*******

Andrew was cleaning up, doing his best to get... okay, not thinking about what was beneath his nails at the moment. Maybe it was time to invest in some black nail polish, go all in for the 'midget goth' look. Wouldn't Stuart be pleased?

Liz, sent by Jamie to find out what was going on with the Carcajou lackeys and probably to keep an eye on her darling 'Ram', leaned against wall by the sink, looking as if she'd wandered into the converted bakery when she'd been on her way to the gym or something. An expensive gym at that, judging from the coordinated leggings and jacket and crop top. Someone mustn't be planning to do any 'dirty' work that day.

"Some people just don't learn," she said as she tapped away on her phone. "I mean, there's optimism, and then there's just stubborn stupidity."

"Maybe they're trying to thin the herd or something, get rid of the worst performers by throwing them at us," he said as he figured his hands were as clean as they were going to get right then.

"Maybe. Or they just don't get that we've been here long enough, we've got the Met covered, one or two weak points aside." Liz shook her head and shifted aside enough so Andrew could grab at the towel hanging on the side of the sink. "Ah, yeah, I'll let Lilya know to send some more shirts to the house," she said with a rueful grin while nodding at the rather large white t-shirt he was wearing. All Andrew did was give her a blank look in return.

It didn't seem to discourage the woman, but then again, considering what she did for a living and that she could probably pick Andrew up and throw him a fair distance without too much effort... he doubted very little did discourage her. "Perhaps I'll ask her to include some turtlenecks as well, for you and Abram, yes?"

Andrew continued to give Liz a blank look as he set the towel aside. "You have something to say?"

Liz made a faint humming noise as she tucked her phone into a pocket of her jacket. "Just that one can't help but notice the interesting marks on Abram's neck that he's trying to hide, and that there's a bruise on yours as well." When Andrew didn't say anything, she smiled. "Things going well between the two of you?"

All he did was turn around to leave the small washroom.

"Look, Andrew," Liz called out as she followed him out of it. "A lot of people care about Abram. He's a good guy - he works hard, he backs Jamie when we all know he could be gunning for her spot, he doesn't throw his name or power around. And... well, he hasn't had it easy." That last part made Andrew spin around to stare down Liz, who held up her hands. "We just want him to be happy."

"So what are you trying to say?" he asked, his voice quiet and his arms folded over his chest… which put his hands near his knives. A shame that he’d just cleaned them, but oh well.

She gave a slight shrug as if unbothered by the obvious threat. "That so far, you seem to make him happy, and I think he makes you happy. I just... I guess I just wanted to say if you wanted to talk about it, let me know.” At Andrew’s slight scoff, Liz had the grace to shake her head. “Or let Lilya know, since she's probably the closest thing to a friend he has, outside of Jamie. She can help you out."

That... wasn't quite what Andrew had expected to hear, not after Stuart; he gave Liz a suspicious look, to which she rolled her eyes. "There's not much to talk about, other than how much of an oblivious idiot he can be." Why were people butting in like this? Why the hell did they care?

"Sure there isn't – because Abram’s made out with an awful lot of people and not tried to stab them afterwards.” When Andrew took a step forward for that comment, Liz threw up her hand. “Dammit, you know what I mean. Anyone who knows him can tell he likes you, and somehow I doubt you’d be fooling around with him if there was ‘not much to talk about’.” When Andrew didn’t have anything to say to that, Liz gave him a slight smile. “So yeah, just know that… well,” she laughed a little as she rubbed at the back of her neck. “You don’t have to talk, but maybe it’ll help. At the least, I’ll buy a couple of rounds and let you rant about his stubborn Hatford ass.”

Andrew was about to tell her to fuck off, then he thought about something. “Have Liliya come along so she can teach me some swear words and it just might be doable.”

That made Liz’s smile grow wider, her teeth bright against her dark complexion. “Oh, so Abram’s pulling his linguist shit on you? Drives Jamie crazy when he does that.” She laughed a little as she came over to him and they resumed leaving the washroom. “You got yourself a deal.”

They tracked down Abram, who was busy talking to someone on the phone – Stuart, it turned out. Abram kept alternating between frowning and smiling as he argued with his uncle about something, the phone held in his right hand and his left buried in his hair.

“No, it’s not like that.” Abram was back to frowning as he gave his hair a tug. “You do know I’m not sixteen anymore, correct?” His pale eyes narrowed for a moment before they went wide. “You just did not… okay, you did.” What followed next was a spat of foreign words which made Andrew arch his eyebrows and Liz let out a low whistle, right before he hung up and stalked off toward the nearest exit.

“I’m gonna say… maybe Jamie shouldn’t have called Stuart back yet, yeah?”

Andrew stared at her in disgust for a moment before he went after the idiot; he found Abram still cursing in Russian as he kicked at the fence in front of the McLaren. “Mature much?”

Abram whirled around, his grey coat flaring around his lean form. “Not now, _hon_.”

“Aw, but you’re adorable when you’re all worked up. Brat looks so good on you, _babe_.”

“I… do you work on being this damn annoying?” Abram was back to combing his fingers through his hair, his expression more exasperated than angry.

“What can I say, you bring it out in me.” Andrew clicked on the car’s key fob and opened the door so he could get in. “Are we leaving or what?”

“Fine.” Abram sighed as he climbed in; they had just pulled out of the parking lot when his phone rang. He looked at it and shook his head before declining the call.

“Stuart?”

“Yes.” Abram sighed again as he returned the phone to the inner pocket of his coat. “Wants to talk to me when he gets back.”

Somehow, Andrew had the suspicion that he might have something to do with that conversation. “What, you’re not up for some family bonding time?”

It was almost amusing, the expression of misery on Abram’s face as he slumped down in the seat. “Oh look, there’s a bridge ahead. Why don’t we go off of it? Might be fun.”

“Drama queen,” Andrew sneered.

“Bonding time with Nicky?” Abram countered as he scowled, his hands now busy fussing with the plaid scarf wrapped around his neck – the scarf he wore in an attempt to hide the hickeys Andrew had left there just a couple of hours ago.

All right, maybe going over the bridge wasn’t such a bad idea, not that Andrew would admit it to the idiot.

They stopped to pick up some dinner on the way home, just some gyros and _fries_ , and Abram was finished with his by the time Andrew got out of a very long shower. For a moment it looked as if he was going to say something, but by that point, all Andrew wanted was something to eat, a shot or two of whiskey and to read a bit of his latest book. So Abram gave him a shy smile, built up a fire and worked on his laptop for a couple of hours while tucked up on the loveseat. It ended up being a quiet night, the trip to Camden aside.

The next day was off to an early start, and once they were done with their morning workouts, there were omelets for breakfast, a cheese and jalapeno one for Andrew. Abram was just washing up the dishes when Andrew’s phone pinged. Busy sipping his coffee, he picked it up and saw a message from Davis – ‘run’. The scared face emoji was a nice touch.

“I think your uncle is here.”

“Eh?” Abram turned off the water and twisted about look at Andrew. “What did you say?”

“That your uncle-“

There was the beep of the alarm being turned off and then the front door being thrown open. “Ram!”

“Yeah,” Andrew muttered as he got up to fetch the whiskey.

“Bloody hell.” Abram wiped at his face. “Hello, Uncle Stuart.”

“Don’t ‘hello’ me, kiddo, not after-“ Stuart barged into the kitchen, grey overcoat half undone, with an apologetic Davis right behind him. Stuart stared at Abram… more exactly, at Abram’s neck, since the idiot was wearing a t-shirt and had his still damp hair slicked back. “What the hell?”

“Did you have a nice time in… where was it again?” Abram managed a slight smile for his uncle, one that faded when Stuart continued to gawk at him. “Uhm, is everything all right?”

“What the _hell_?” Stuart made to approach Abram, but seemed to rethink that and lunged for Andrew instead; Andrew dropped his mug and had his hands up in an instant to shove the man back, while Davis shouted out Stuart’s name and grabbed at the back of his coat. “You little bastard!”

“Stuart! Calm down!”

“Stop it!” Abram shoved his way between Andrew and Stuart, his expression livid. “What the fuck?”

“Exactly! What did he do to you?”

Andrew palmed a knife as he glared at the asshole. “Ask that again, go ahead.” Stuart thought he knew about Andrew? About his past? And dared to ask _that_ question? Oh yes, someone wanted to see their liver right then, and their spleen, and a good bit of their spine.

However, it looked as if Abram was about to beat him to it as he pushed Stuart back. “He did _nothing_ ,” he hissed at his uncle. “You don’t come in here, into our home and say things like that, do you understand? Get the fuck out if you don’t.” He scowled at his uncle, undaunted by the slight differences in their height, the gaps in their age or even that Stuart probably had about thirty pounds on him, at least, all muscle.

Stuart met the furious look for several seconds, before he had the grace to appear ashamed. “For fuck’s sake, Ram, look at you.” He gestured to Abram’s neck. “You telling me that it’s… you and _him_?”

“Since when do I have to tell you anything about my personal life?” Abram said, his voice as cold as his eyes, his entire demeanor just then. “I certainly never asked you for any details of your own.”

“Ah, that would be a ‘yes’,” Davis murmured, a rueful smile on his face as he hovered around Stuart’s left shoulder.

Stuart spared a disgruntled look for his second, before sending Abram a beseeching one. “Seriously? The _Yank_?”

“I’m standing here,” Andrew ground out as he tapped the knife against the fingernails of his left hand.

That earned him a bitter look before Stuart refocused his attention on his precious nephew. “I mean, if you’re finally willing to give… well, I mean, there’s options, yeah? What about Martin or Camilo or Johnny McCoy, eh?”

“Right _fucking_ here,” Andrew said a little louder, while making a mental note of those names; he told himself that if Stuart was all for them, they must be assholes.

“Oh god, I’m not drunk enough for this,” Abram declared as the ice gave away to what looked to be panic. “No, Uncle Stuart, just… _no_.” He ran his fingers through his hair as he sped a hasty retreat toward the cabinet which housed the gin. “I’m glad you’re back, but this isn’t happening. Whatever is… is between Andrew and me, so leave it alone.” The cabinet door was almost yanked off in Abram’s haste to open it, and his relief was evident as he snatched up the bottle of gin.

Andrew was right behind him to grab the whiskey. “And don’t even think to reassign me,” he warned. “Now fuck off.”

Hmm, interesting, Stuart made almost the same low growl of frustration as his nephew; he jerked his right hand through his short, greying hair before he stomped over to grab the bottle of whiskey as soon as Andrew was done pouring himself a nice tumbler-full of the stuff. “I don’t trust you,” he told Andrew, his right index finger extended as he held the glass in his hand. “But I’ll trust Ram to slit your throat if you fuck up.”

“Thank you,” Abram said, his tone wry as he refilled his glass with a bit more gin.

“Not that you should have to do something like that,” Stuart continued as he gazed at his nephew. “If he starts to get out of line, let me know. A good beating will set him right.”

Fortunate for the prick, Davis shifted to block Andrew’s straight shot of man just then. “He means it with love,” Davis argued. “Honest.”

“And I’ll stab him in the kidney with love, honest,” Andrew said.

“Camilo,” Stuart pleaded while he refilled his glass. “Just say you’ll consider him.”

Abram placed his own glass in the sink as he stared off at nothing in particular then walked out of the kitchen without saying another word; if there was one thing that Andrew had learned over the last few months, was that things were bad when Abram didn’t say anything. No snark, no self-depreciating comment, no insults, nothing.

“Shit,” Stuart muttered before he tossed back the whiskey.

“’Shit’ indeed.” Andrew gave the two men a very slight smile. “Get the fuck out of my house before I call Bren over here to start digging graves.”

“Tell Ram… fuck, I’ll check on him later.” Stuart set his own glass down before he hurried out of the kitchen, his face set with worry and shoulders hunched. Davis sent Andrew an apologetic smile before he followed his boss, and Andrew enjoyed the peacefulness after their departure for about a minute before he had a little more whiskey and then went up to the next floor.

He knocked on the door and waited a few seconds before he entered, mindful of thrown knives, and found Abram curled up on the bed. Going over to the furniture, he hesitated for a moment before sitting down on the edge.

“Do I look like a child to you?” Abram asked, his voice quiet yet clear.

“No,” Andrew said as he stared down at his hands lying limp on his own lap, rather than the almost wistful expression on Abram’s face, the way those strands of hair trailed out onto the pale green duvet.

“Then why does he insist on treating me like one? As if I can’t make this decision for myself?”

Maybe because Abram didn’t have the best track record when it came to things like this? Or that much experience? Maybe because Stuart just wanted to keep the idiot safe? Andrew could understand that much, could grasp the need to protect, to do whatever was necessary to stave off harm from whatever it was that you’d sworn to look after, to keep whole. And Abram? He’d taken so many hits already, had so many cracks, it was no wonder that Stuart was desperate to keep any other blows from landing.

Yes, Andrew could see it from that perspective. And yet… Abram wasn’t something that could be locked away, could be swaddled up and put on a pedestal. Being isolated only did him more harm, only added to the many issues and deepened the existing cracks. As he’d said, he wasn’t a child, and being treated like one did him no favors.

“He means well,” Andrew said, only to scoff. “And you know what they say about good intentions.”

“Yeah,” Abram agreed. “Sorry that he’s taking it out on you.”

“I’m used to it,” Andrew admitted. Was used to being seen as the monster, the good for nothing, nameless kid who made the perfect scapegoat.

Abram pushed up on his hands and scowled. “Doesn’t mean it’s right.”

Was the idiot defending Andrew? Oh, how _precious_. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist, _babe_. You’re his darling Ram, of course he’s not going to think you’re behind any of this. About how you came on to me first.”

“Oh fuck off.” Abram fell back down onto the bed. “What the hell was I thinking?”

“Probably one of the few times you did any thinking in your life,” Andrew taunted as he got up from the bed. Oh yes, he definitely had to take Liz up on the offer for a few rounds of drinks and lessons from Liliya, considering what Abram was shouting at him just then. Though Andrew supposed he should consider himself lucky that it was just pillows being thrown as he left the room, and not knives.

Needless to say, he got the main floor to himself for a few hours after that, until Abram calmed down enough to join him when Bren dropped off some pasta for dinner. Though the idiot seemed ready to throw some knives when Andrew walked off with the garlic bread (oh, he was getting _so_ close to that breaking point).

"I hear Stuart's back," Bren said with a wide grin.

"Go away," Abram snapped while he went over to grab a bottle of wine.

"Yeah, you can tell they're related," Bren confided in Andrew, who was already munching on the bread. "Stuart's just as pissy right now." Bren's smile flattened when Abram set the corkscrew down to reach for one of his blades; Andrew had never seen the burly man move so fast before, on his way out the door. On the plus side, Abram seemed restored to a better mood, even if the knife stayed out on the counter.

"You're still not getting any bread," Andrew said when the idiot handed him a glass of wine.

Abram just gazed at him for several seconds before sighing. "Have to get Stuart to glaze the damn tiles," was all Abram muttered before he sat down to eat his own dinner.

Whatever the hell that meant.

They watched a movie together afterwards, another Chinese one, that time with no subtitles, and Andrew was pleased to note that he could grasp almost all of the dialogue, excluding some of the more obscure or slang references. Once it was finished, he followed Abram into the kitchen to dump his empty container of ice cream in the garbage. "Think I'll see if Liz is free tomorrow night, she had talked about us getting together."

"Oh?" Abram smiled a little as he put his cup into the dishwasher; so nice to have a roommate who took care of things like that. "Sounds like it should be a fun night out."

He waited to see if Abram tried to invite himself along, but all his friend did was finish cleaning up the dishes; Andrew noticed that while Abram went along with him and Stuart for social drinking, he didn't seem to care for it all that much, didn't enjoy it for the sake of drinking. The only time Abram really seemed determined to drink was when he was upset or stressed... and those weren't times when he wanted to be with a bunch of people.

"So I'll let Bren know?" Andrew continued as he leaned against the counter.

"Sure." Abram was quiet for a moment, and then his smile took on a sharp edge. "Can have all the damn garlic bread I want, tomorrow."

"Pathetic, Hatford. Still, maybe it'll slow you down a little."

"Maybe." Abram stepped a little closer as his smile evened out. "Yes or no?"

It wasn't often that Abram initiated anything; Andrew wasn't certain how far he was willing to go just then, but he figured he'd see where things led. "Yes."

Abram waited for him to push away from the counter then stepped closer, his hands down by his side as he leaned in for a kiss. He kept his lips closed and didn’t bridge the rest of the space between them, so Andrew had the suspicion that he wasn’t in the mood for pushing any boundaries that night, either. Perhaps he was just checking that things were all right after Stuart’s… whatever, or… well, who the hell knew what the idiot thought. Andrew snorted a little when he pushed Abram away with a gentle shove after several seconds. “Go brush your teeth.”

That made Abram smile, clearly not upset at either the order or the kiss ending. “You’re the one who ate the damn garlic bread.” There was that slight smile on his damn face, his tousled hair falling onto his eyes as he rocked back on his heels, altogether a sight that made Andrew’s stomach’s flip for some reason. "Hmm, weather is supposed to be decent tomorrow. We'll go for a run."

"I hate you," Andrew told the bastard.

"Yes, I can tell you're so excited about the idea." A rare laugh slipped free while Abram left the kitchen, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright, and all of a sudden Andrew was annoyed that they _had_ stopped, that he wasn't following Abram into the idiot's bedroom and... enough. _Enough_. Why did he allow himself to get so worked up over this one person? Because of that smile? Because of how Abram looked? Because the idiot so far respected Andrew's boundaries? It didn't make any sense.

It also didn't make any sense why Andrew allowed himself to be dragged out of a very nice, warm, comfortable bed to run around in the cold to effectively chase after an idiot for what had to be a couple of miles (though the tight running leggings that Abram wore? Okay, he could admit to himself that they didn't hurt the situation. They didn't hurt at all. Especially when they finally got back to the townhouse and he got to run his hands over the clingy material while making a certain idiot breathless in a way that all those damn miles never had). He told himself that he was having Stuart get him the newest McLaren when it was out to make up for all of this abuse.

To think that Stuart was so fucking worried about precious _Ram_ , about Andrew hurting _Ram_ , when the idiot was doing a rather fine job of driving Andrew crazy. Where was Bee when he needed her? At the very least to declare a certain idiot lethal to any and all recovery efforts.

Well, not that Andrew had ever really cared much about recovery efforts. Small bit of irony there, he supposed. Bee might be unsporting enough to point that out. Hmm, he needed to dwell on that some more.

So he had the idiot make french toast for breakfast, just to get a bit of his own torture back. Oh, how amusing it was to listen to that fancy accent curse in frustration, to watch Abram fumble over what really should be a simple thing, and then see him smile when Andrew proclaimed those efforts 'not bad'.

'think i've had a psychotic break' he sent off to Renee. 'do NOT pray for my soul'

Then he told Nicky to stop being a pain in the ass and get some work done, before he sent a message to Liz to see if she could meet up later that night, along with Liliya. It took about an hour before she responded, but she sent back a time and a place, so he next sent off a text to Bren about the man covering for him with Abram. Of course the enforcer had to get all smart and reply back about him cheating on Abram already, and with Liz at that, but a simple comment about how fast did he want his death to be seemed to put the man in his place.

Abram spent the day occupied with work, but had Andrew go over some of the Chinese stuff to help him polish up his reading skills as well as learn a bit more about 'the business'. It seemed that he had gotten over his attempt to push Andrew away, in encouraging him to 'run'. Andrew didn't know if it was because of... whatever it was between them, of Stuart, or Andrew's insistence on protecting Abram.

Either way, the day went by quickly, and Abram just made himself some soup and sandwiches while Andrew went to get ready for his night out. A subdued Bren showed up at the agreed time, and Abram wished Andrew well before he left, apparently on his way to his bedroom for the evening.

Just a little different from the last night Andrew had gone out on his own.

Liz had agreed to meet up at Billy Murphy's pub in Camden, which wasn't that much of a surprise, especially since Liliya was tagging along; Andrew supposed that she wanted to go somewhere she felt comfortable, where no one would give the two women any grief.

Billy nodded at Andrew when he walked in to the Plucked Gander but didn't pause in his conversation with the two men at the bar - Andrew recognized them as enforcers who worked with Ravi and Liam.  He kept on until he reached the back table where Liz and Liliya were seated, pleased to note that Liz already had a new bottle of whiskey and a couple of glasses waiting.

"There he his, Stuart's favorite person," she called out as he sat down.

"Amusing." He shrugged out of his coat and draped it over the back of the chair while Liliya giggled; the Ukrainian woman had her silver bracelets on but was dressed in a loose white sweater and jeans, her dark hair wore loose around her shoulders. Beside her, Liz was still an imposing figure with her fitted green cotton shirt and black jeans.

"Hmm, I think Jamie's giving him another day or two to stop sulking before she sends him off to Paris or Cologne." Liz shook her head as she cracked the seal on the bottle and poured all three of them something to drink. "I don't know how Davis puts up with him."

Liliya laughed as she held out her glass. "I think it's adorable, no? He shows he cares about Abram." Her expression turned a bit regretful as she stared into her glass. "It would have been nice, if my father cared so much."

Liz finished topping off Andrew's drink then set the bottle down so she could murmur something to her girlfriend while giving her a one-armed hug. He ignored them while drinking, and by the time the whiskey was gone, Liliya was back to normal and the two were draining their glasses as well.

They talked a little 'shop' (some follow-up on the day before) and had another round before a teenager who looked related to Billy came over to ask if they wanted something to eat (Liz recommended the fish and 'chips'), which they did, and then Liliya started Andrew on his language lessons; she was fluent in Ukrainian, obviously, but she knew a bit of Russian as well. At least, she knew enough to help him out with what Abram was saying to him, from what he could repeat back to her.

"Oh, I think you are annoying him a little, no?" Liliya said as she hid a smile behind her right hand.

"Wow, this is something...." Liz paused to blink a couple of times. "Huh, do I want to see it? I mean, part of me does, he has that whole... well, it's almost a posh thing going on, him and Jamie. And she's scary as hell when she loses it. I've only seen Abram lose it once, and that was bad. But to see him all...." She twirled her left hand around in the air. "All cursing and stuff. Huh." She stared hard at Andrew as if considering something. "Huh."

"I too have seen Abram...." Liliya lost her smile as she dropped her hand to the table to clutch at her empty glass, her eyes vacant as her shoulders slouched forward. Then she shook herself and smiled again. "But yes, I think I want to see this." She looked at Andrew and leaned across the table. "I want to see it very much."

"I'll see what I can do," Andrew said; at least now he knew what Abram was saying to him, and could answer back - well, once he worked on his pronunciation. That might take some time and effort, maybe a few more nights out with Liliya.

The fish and _fries_ weren't half bad, and the three of them worked their way through the rest of the bottle, Liz and Andrew drinking the brunt of it while they complained about how stubborn Hatfords could be and Liliya added in her own observations here and there. Andrew was beginning to understand why Abram counted the young woman as a rare friend - she was bright and mostly upbeat, had a sly sense of humor but also knew when to not push things, was observant and mindful of boundaries. That and she knew a good deal of Abram's issues, would know what was off-limits when dealing with the man. Liz? She was a bit more sarcastic than first was apparent, had a dark humor that came out after a few drinks, and while she was willing to complain about Jamie and Stuart, it would be a big mistake to think that she didn't still respect them and wouldn’t defend them in an instant. She just wasn't blind to their faults - or her own, since she was willing to own up to Liliya's gentle teasing, or the one time Andrew called her out on something. As drinking companions went... they were bearable, especially since they handled most of the talking, apparently willing to let Andrew listen and ask the occasional question, to throw in a complaint here and there between drinks.

He left the pub with a couple of new ideas on how to handle Stuart and Abram, a better knowledge of Eastern European curses and insults (even if he could only manage to pronounce a couple of them as of yet), and a faint buzz. Liz and Liliya went in the opposite direction when they got out onto the street, while Andrew headed down the block to where he’d parked the McLaren.

The Plucked Gander wasn’t in the best neighborhood, but it _was_ a ‘Hatford’ neighborhood, so he wasn’t that worried about the car or anything else. Also, he had his knives and he wasn’t that drunk, wasn’t anywhere near incapacitated enough to affect his reflexes or fighting ability – not after years of drinking, of drugs. Of being forced on medication.

So he was mindful of where he was, but he wasn’t worried. So he noticed the guy hanging around the one doorway about half a block from the car, noticed that he was tall and broad-shouldered… but Andrew just made sure he could reach his knives if necessary and kept on walking, feeling an itch for a cigarette and wondering if Abram would still be awake when he got home. He’d just walked past the guy when he heard a familiar voice call out.

“Look at you, AJ.”

That voice. Andrew stilled at the sound of that voice, a little rougher than he remembered it, a little deeper, but still just as smug, just as amused as it had been when Drake had caught him alone. When he’d push him onto the bed and-

The next thing he knew, something was smashing into him hard enough to knock him off balance, to daze him, then was shoving him into the wall with enough force that he couldn’t breathe. He grit his teeth together as fingers grabbed his hair and had enough sense to brace himself as Drake – fucking _Drake_ – attempted to slam his head into the brick wall of the building, and it cost him a couple hits to his ribs which made him gasp in pain. Drake had always been bigger than him, bigger and stronger.

“Oh, someone’s feisty. Always loved it when you struggled, AJ.”

At least, the bastard _had been_ stronger. Andrew put to good use all those mornings spent working out, all those hours lifting weights as he vented out his frustration and boredom, and even though it cost him a punch to the head, he got an elbow free enough to jab it into Drake’s chest. As the bastard gasped in pain, he then shoved away from the wall with all his strength.

“Just fuckin’ behave,” Drake gasped as he threw another punch; Andrew had also been working on his speed, thanks to a certain idiot, and stepped aside just in time. “Don’t make me-“

Oh, Andrew had to admit it felt good to slam his fist into Drake’s side, into his left kidney. A punch he followed up with a hit to the bastard’s face. “You’ll do what? Make me feel _good_?” he hissed as he kicked Drake in the sternum, which left the bastard gasping for air on the ground. “Oh, I’m feeling _good_ enough right now.”

The feel of someone touching him made him swing around, only to find Nadav standing near him, his hands held up in the air. “Heya! You can’t be doing that out here, all right?” the enforcer insisted; judging from his torn jeans and battered jacket, it looked like he was ‘off the clock’. “Murphy don’t like personal stuff going on by the pub.”

Andrew managed a parody of a smile as he planted his left foot on Drake’s throat to keep the bastard on the ground. “I don’t… I don’t think this is personal.” He was beginning to feel the hits to his ribs and the slam into the wall right about then. What were the odds of Drake tracking him down to London? To this pub on this night?

Nadav stared back at him, his dark eyes glittering in the flickering street lights, down at a choking Drake and then nodded. “All right, then let’s get him off the street, yeah?” He reached into the back pocket of what his jeans to pull out a phone, and Andrew thought that he heard him call Marcus.

Not a bad idea. Andrew put a little more pressure on the bastard’s throat when Drake tried to pry off his foot and pulled out his own phone; it took about three rings before Abram answered. “If you’re looking for a ride, you never got me that bike, _hon_.”

For some reason, Andrew found himself wanting to smile just then. Huh, maybe he’d taken a harder hit to the head than he’d thought. “We got problems. I’m thinking Moriyama problems.”

All traces of teasing were gone from Abram’s voice when he spoke next. “You’re still by the pub?”

“Yeah.”

“Any of Marcus’ men around to help you out?”

There was a reason why people thought that the idiot could take over for Will. “Yeah, Nadav.”

“Good. Tell him that I’ll meet up with you at the old hotel off of High Street.” Then the idiot hung up.

To be fair, several large men were hurrying down the street from the direction of the pub, so Andrew assumed that things were moving along. Also, Drake was getting restless, which earned the bastard a kick to the head, right before Nadav and Den bent down to grab him. Andrew was still going to have words later on with Abram about proper phone etiquette, though, and passed on Abram’s message to Nadav.

He allowed himself a few more punches to make himself feel better, especially when the bastard started in on that ‘AJ’ shit again, then watched as Drake was bundled off into a waiting van. Nadav called out an address to him, so Andrew left any mess to be dealt with to Thomas and the others before he went for his car.

Once he made sure the McLaren hadn’t been tampered with in any obvious way, he got into it, wincing a little at a twinge in his side (probably a bruised rib or two), and was at the ‘old hotel’ in about fifteen minutes. There were a few cars parked there already, including the van, and he arrived in time to watch Drake be hauled into the building.

Andrew didn’t go inside right away, instead he checked his phone; he went through the old texts until he came across the one from several days ago, the one warning him to leave Abram or his past would ‘find him’. In hind sight, he really should have paid attention, shouldn’t he? Probably should have told Jamie or Bren. But it had been such juvenile cryptic shit that he hadn’t taken it very serious.

He hadn’t really ‘run’ from Drake. He’d damn near cut himself into pieces doing his best _not_ to run, and when it had gotten to be too much? When Drake had gone too far by trying to drag Aaron into things? Then Andrew had burned his bridges with a lovely assault charge. So no, no running. Riko or Nathan or whoever was behind the damn message really needed to get their facts straight.

The little details mattered.

That done for the moment, he shoved the phone back into his coat and got out of the car so he could enter the dilapidated building. Den was standing guard at the door inside and gave him a slight nod, while in the cleared out lobby of the small building, Nadav and another enforcer, Jared, were pulling on the rope tied around Drake’s bound wrists to make him stand more or less on his feet. Off to the side, Marcus watched on, his expression almost thoughtful.

The high ranking enforcer looked as if he’d been called in from a night out, since he was dressed in black dress pants and a dark blue button down shirt left unbuttoned around the neck. His hair was cut close to his scalp and he spoke with a faint accent, a hint of South Caribbean, Andrew thought. Not the biggest or most impressive of the Hatford enforcers… but Andrew was the last person to believe that size or mass equaled strength, especially when dealing with this organization.

He gave Andrew a slight nod. “You know him?”

Andrew nodded back. “Yes.” He didn’t want to go into it, not with these people; when he looked over at Drake, he noticed that the bastard appeared unconscious. Marcus noticed it too and nodded again.

“He was uncooperative, so my people dealt with him. Should be awake soon.”

For the most part that was good, except Andrew was certain that Drake wouldn’t shut up once he was awake; he had certainly loved to taunt Andrew about what he’d done to him back… back then. To talk about what he wanted to do with Aaron. Andrew was certain that part of the Moriyamas’ plan was not only to have Drake hurt him again, but to discredit him as much as possible to the Hatfords and their people.

He lit a cigarette and attempted to figure out how to tell Marcus and everyone else to ‘fuck off’, to leave Drake to him. About halfway through his second one, the door opened and everyone turned around to see who had just entered; Andrew blew out a plume of smoke at Abram’s arrival, and wondered just how the hell Bren had gotten him there that fast, even that late at night.

It looked as if Abram had just thrown his coat on over his casual clothes and his hair was falling onto his face as he stepped more into the lobby, yet the cold gleam in his grey eyes and the blankness on his face made everyone but Andrew scramble to attention.

Abram stopped next to Andrew and gazed at him for a couple of seconds before turning to study a still out of it Drake. “Do you know him?”

“Yes.”

“And he was sent by the Moriyamas?”

“Yes.” Andrew dropped the cigarette to the filthy floor and ground it out with the toe of his right boot while Abram continued to regard Drake with that icy disdain. Then his friend turned toward Marcus, who had come to hover around his right side. “I would appreciate it if you and your people watched the outside while we handle this.”

Marcus cleared his throat upon hearing that. “I see.” Then he gave a slight shake of his head. “I believe that Stuart would-“

Abram broke out that chilling smile of his. “I would _appreciate_ it if you and your people watched the outside while _we_ handle this,” he repeated.

To give Marcus credit, he managed to hold Abram’s gaze for a couple of seconds before he nodded. “Call out if you need anything.” Then he stepped back and motioned for his people to… well, yeah, ‘retreat’ was the only word for it, especially with the way that about half of them scurried for the exit.

Scurried from the man who couldn’t even make pancakes without almost burning the kitchen down.

Bren waited until Marcus and his people were gone to step forward. “You want me here or not?” he asked, a little more used to Abram’s ‘scary’ mode than others.

“Outside the door, please,” Abram said as his smile faded. Bren nodded before doing what he’d been told, and then Abram turned toward Andrew. “Is that acceptable?”

Well, rather late to ask, but yes, it was indeed acceptable. “Yes.”

“Do you want me to stay or go?”

The question surprised Andrew; he hadn’t thought that Abram would give him that much courtesy, would allow him to that much carte blanche to deal with something connected to the Moriyamas. For a moment he debated asking his friend to leave… but Abram already knew anything that Drake might bring up. “Stay,” Andrew said as he slipped free a knife.

“All right.” Abram looked around for something and then sighed as he folded his arms over his chest; there really wasn’t any furniture in the lobby area, other than a rotting check-in desk, if he wanted something to sit on or lean against.

Knife in hand, Andrew went over to Drake’s slightly swaying form and then stopped; for so long, the man had been a personal demon, had been a mocking voice in his head and a monster in his nightmares. Now? Drake’s face was bruised and bloody from the blows that Andrew himself had landed, along with Nadav and the others, was covered with a bit of stubble. The light brown hair Andrew remembered always being so close shaven had grown out, and the bastard’s muscular body had lost some definition, had gained some weight around his once-trim middle. He was still tall and broad-shouldered, but he wasn’t as impressive as he’d been before. Had someone fallen on rough times? Prison life not as kind to them as the Marines? Hmm, Andrew wondered if Drake’s fall from grace had made him an easy target for the Moriyamas to manipulate. But in the end, the bastard had just enjoyed hurting people. Had enjoyed hurting him.

“Who is he?”

“Drake Spear,” Andrew said as he forced himself to take those extra two steps so he could grab onto the belt loop of the bastard’s jeans to hold him steady and draw the knife through the poorly done eagle tattoo on Drake’s left pectoral. “My ‘dear’ foster brother, the one who raped me for years before I ended up in juvie.”

“Ah.” Abram might have said something else, but it was lost as Drake jolted awake from the pain; Andrew stepped back as Drake flailed about, the bastard almost losing his footing but jerking himself back onto his feet just in time.

“What the fuck?” The words were slightly slurred, possibly from a concussion, probably from the abuse his mouth had taken and definitely from shock over the situation. Then Drake noticed Andrew standing in front of him. “AJ! What the fuck?” He jerked at his bound wrists. “Cut me loose, dammit! Cut me loose before I beat your ass! This isn’t funny! I’m going to-“ He yelled when Andrew slashed at his chest again.

“You don’t get it, do you?” Andrew said, his voice pitched to be heard over the bastard’s muttered curses. “I’m not cutting you loose, and you’re never touching me again.”

“What… what the hell? AJ?” Drake screamed in pain as Andrew stabbed him in the muscle of his tattooed left arm. “Fucking do it!”

“Never call me that again,” Andrew said, his tone almost civil.

“A- ah,” Drake panted, and Andrew smiled at the hatred he saw in those detested brown eyes. “Fuh- ah!”

He smiled some more as he twisted the knife and then dodged Drake’s attempt to kick him, as Drake shouted out how he was going to hurt Andrew, how he was going to beat him then fuck him. Hmm, they should have tied the bastard’s feet down, but oh well. Just made things more interesting, a bit of a fight.

Waiting until Drake ran out of breath, he held up the knife so it gleamed in the lobby’s jerry-rigged lighting. “Did they tell you what I do now, the people who sent you after me? Or did they just give you a ticket and tell you where I’d be? Do you know _anything_?”

Drake shook his head, at least until he got a knife in the thigh. Andrew left it there and pulled out another blade, then had to wait until the bastard stopped screaming. “I’ve got a lot of these, you know. Who told you where I was?”

“Fuck, AJ! Suh-some woman,” Drake stuttered out as he glared at Andrew. “Fuh-phone call. Never… never saw her. Just… calls an’ texts. Money deposits. Get more when… when I fu-fuck you.”

The bastard was given a reminder about using _that_ name again.

Abram spoke up again once Drake’s screams died down, blood pouring down from the slice across his left cheek. “Marcus or one of his people should have his phone, if it was on him when they grabbed him. If not, they can track down where he was staying.” As he spoke, he was busy sending a message from his phone, probably to Marcus or Bren. “Probably our best chance of a lead, if any.”

Andrew scowled at his friend as he flicked away the blood dripping from his knife. “So what? That’s it? We don’t need him?” Behind him, Drake made a low moaning sound.

“Technically, no, we don’t need him.” Abram met Andrew’s gaze as he put away his phone. “But by all means, do continue.” There was no sarcasm in his voice, no sign of mockery in his expression. “I’m just saying that you don’t have to worry about questioning him. From the sounds of it, I suspect Lola Malcolm was behind this, and she’s not careless enough to have let slip anything incriminating to him.” For a moment, something dark flashed across Abram’s face. “He’s worthless to us as a lead.”

“No, no, no,” Drake pleaded. “I… her voice… she sounded… eastern accent. May… maybe northeastern?”

The darkness returned. “Yes, Lola Malcolm,” Abram said as he rubbed at his left side – where Andrew knew a scar snaked along his ribs. “At the least, she made the call.”

How nice, to be able to put a name to all of this. Not that there was much doubt where it all led to in the end. “So what now?”

The smile from earlier returned as Abram motioned to Drake. “Well, you’ve got a reunion to tend to, don’t you?”

“No, no, no,” Drake chanted. “I… can… AJ!”

For a moment Andrew wondered if this was some sort of test, some sort of trick. Then he remembered that Stuart had handed over the last Popescu cousin to Abram to finish off, and that it ‘hadn’t been pretty’. That if anyone could understand what Andrew was feeling just then, what was inside his head… it was Abram. Maybe Andrew’s wounds weren’t as fresh, his nightmares as vivid… but they were just as ingrained, if not even more so, his demons just as powerful.

It was time to exorcise one of them.

Nathan Wesninski and Ichiro Moriyama had thought to tear him down, to drive him off by sending his past after him?

He’d walked away from it under his own power and refused to let it drag him down anymore. There was no way in hell he’d allow someone else to use it against him.

Before now, he’d been willing to fight the Moriyamas and their allies because of Kevin, because of the deal he’d made with the coward. Then it was because of Abram, because of another deal and a certain idiot who had shown him a world where he feel alive again. Now? Oh, now those pricks had gone and given him a personal reason to fight.

He dragged the knife along a pleading Drake’s abdomen as he let out a slow breath. “What did I say about calling me that name, hmm?”

“I foresee this taking some time,” Abram said, voice pitched to be heard over Drake’s scream as he pulled out his phone. “Coffee run? Double mocha?”

“Yeah, better make it a venti, and two of them,” Abram said while he made another cut. “And some cookies or scones or whatever.” He’d need the sugar rush in a bit, especially with the headache he had from the punch.

“Biscuits,” Abram corrected him in an offhand manner.

“ _Cookies, babe_.”

“Just shut up and go back to torturing the man, _hon_ ,” Abram snapped. “Gonna be here all fucking night, there goes my morning run.”

Andrew shook his head at a sobbing Drake. “Does he think that’s going to make me speed things up?”

“Ah… I-“

“Hush, another word and it’ll be your tongue next,” Andrew promised before he settled in to enjoying his revenge.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> Hmmm. That was very Andrew-centric, wasn't it? It seemed like it to me. He got a lot of 'relationship' talks, but it's the timing thing (and Abram had to deal with Jamie, the poor boy, and Stuart).
> 
> And setting up things. Hmmm.
> 
> Probably more I wanted to say, but I think I'm just... just... yeah. Good time to curl up with cats.
> 
> As always, the comments and kudos are greatly appreciated!  
> *******


	10. Carry You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! I'm really going to be trying to get them up on Wednesdays for this fic, and see about new stuff on Sundays or whatever. But for now, new chapter!
> 
> Much thanks to Huntwodh for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> *******

*******

Andrew set his keys down on the marble island in the kitchen and just stood there, full of an odd, blurry mix of exhaustion and exhilaration that made him sway back and forth for a moment from lightheadedness.

"Do you want me to put on some coffee?" Abram asked, his voice soft from exhaustion and perhaps a touch of wariness as well; he had watched Andrew take apart a man over the last couple of hours, take apart Drake with a pleased smile on his face. Andrew's cheeks hurt from smiling so much, in fact.

"No, I'm going to bed soon," he said, even if he didn't move just yet. He wanted to sleep, to stretch out in his clean, soft bed in _his_ bedroom, in a house that was _his_ , in a room no one entered unless he allowed it, with the door locked while he dreamt. While he dreamt of Drake but not of how the man had been all those years ago, so much stronger and more powerful, but of the bastard broken down and crying, of him pleading with Andrew to stop. _Pleading with Andrew to stop_. Oh, how the tides had turned, hadn't they?

Andrew hadn’t stopped.

Some monsters didn't deserve mercy, didn't deserve restraint, and if that made Andrew just as bad as them? He could live with it. Drake would never get the opportunity to touch Aaron, to touch anyone else. For a moment rage skittered through Andrew’s exhausted body when he thought about Luther breaking his promise, about how Drake had hurt more of Cass's foster children, children she shouldn't have had, until Pig Higgins had finally put things together. Only for the Moriyamas to pull the right strings to get Drake out of jail and on a plane to come pay Andrew a little visit.

Well, not anymore.

Andrew started when a glass full of whiskey was set down a foot or two away from him by a solemn Abram. "Right then, what about a night cap?"

Throughout it all, Abram had stood nearby, had brought him coffee and snacks to fuel him through the night, had pulled him back from the edge when he would have gone too far too soon, had helped him clean up at the end and ordered Marcus to dispose of Drake's body, all without any sign of disgust or disagreement. Hell, he'd even brought a spare change of clothes for Andrew, his own clothes rather than go into Andrew's room without permission; the long-sleeved shirt was tight across Andrew's shoulders and chest, but the loose pants mostly fit, though they dragged along the floor.

"Thanks." He picked up the glass and knocked back the alcohol without tasting it, he was that tired. Still, it was a warm burn down his throat and felt good as it settled in his gut. "Even think to drag me out of bed before noon and I'll hamstring you."

That got him a tired smile. "No, I think we're in agreement that it'll be a late morning." Abram brushed aside the hair falling onto his face, and Andrew noticed that there was a hint of red at the roots.

He set the glass down and moved forward, only to stop when Abram held out his hand. "What?"

Abram seemed to hesitate, and then raised his hand until it was close to Andrew's head. "Yes or no?"

The last thing Andrew was thinking of just then was continuing the... the _whatever_ it was between them... but Abram had stood beside him all night, had watched him take apart the man who had abused him as a child. So he gave a slight nod and then said 'yes' to see what it was that his friend intended, all too willing to put a halt to anything that went too far.

Yet all Abram did was slide his fingers into Andrew's hair, the touch light at first, and then give his scalp a gentle rub; Andrew started at it all the same, and then let out a slow breath he hadn't been aware he'd been holding and closed his eyes. Closed his eyes and allowed the gentle rub, the intimate gesture because... because it was Abram touching him somewhere safe, was nothing _too intimate_ yet he needed it just then, needed someone touching him as if he wasn't vile and filthy and tainted, as if he was worth this.

He allowed it for a minute or two before he stepped away, needing the space, needing to... just needing to do it. Still, there was understanding in Abram's expression, in those pale eyes of his and he gave Andrew a slight smile as he turned away to go upstairs without saying a word.

Andrew combed his fingers through his tousled hair, his scalp still tingling from the touch, and followed, feeling a sense of relief with each step that took him closer to his bedroom. Once inside of it, he locked the door behind him, fetched his phone out of the pocket of the cotton pants to set it on his nightstand, and then removed the borrowed clothes so he could wash off in the shower. The hot water felt good, as did the thought of washing away the last of Drake, and soon enough he was in his bed, _his_ bed, with the sheets pulled up to his chin, and soon was oblivious to the world.

He didn't dream of anything. He was fine with that.

It was after one in the afternoon when he woke up, body a bit stiff from the hits he'd taken, but nothing he couldn't ignore with a little effort and some ibuprofen. Forgoing shaving for the day, he brushed his teeth and headed downstairs to an unpleasant surprise.

Davis was sprawled out on the couch watching television, some ridiculous talk show or another, and gave him a cheerful wave in greeting. Meanwhile, Stuart was in the kitchen with Abram, his voice pitched low as he talked to his nephew while he ate what looked to be an omelet; Andrew hoped that Abram had the forethought to poison the thing.

"Ah, about time you got your lazy midget goth ass out of bed," Stuart drawled as he picked up his mug.

Andrew gazed at him for a few seconds and then scowled at Abram. "We're changing the security codes and the locks."

Abram just sighed as he fetched two omelets from the fridge then set them in the microwave to reheat before going over to pour a mug of coffee, to which he added milk and sugar. "Bren will just tell him what it is. How are you feeling?"

"All right, until I saw his face." Andrew accepted the mug with a slight nod.

"Oh, real mature," Stuart huffed.

"Look who's talking."

"Listen, you shitty little-"

"Can we not do this?" Abram asked with a slight edge to his voice. "Especially in a room filled with lots of sharp objects?"

Stuart eyed his nephew with some trepidation for a moment and then shook his head before having another bite of what looked to be a cheese and bacon omelet. "All right. So, we were just talking about last night," he said after swallowing. "About how the assholes are targeting you now."

Andrew pulled out his phone and set it on the island before he sat down, figuring it was best to get things out of the way. "They're trying to get me to leave Abram." He noticed how Abram, about to pour himself a cup of tea, went stiff upon hearing that. Cue the Baileys at any moment.

"What a surprise." Stuart dragged the phone toward him and looked at the text that Andrew had left displayed on it. "Why didn't you tell us about this?" For once, he didn't sound in too much of a snit about things.

"Because I figured it was Kevin trying to scare me off again or something," Andrew admitted while he stared after Abram. "Also, didn't expect them to go as far as they did. Not that it changes anything." He said that last for a certain idiot's benefit.

Stuart scoffed at that and had another bite of his breakfast. "Well, our friends in the government will be happy to know that what basically amounts to an escaped convict managed to get through security." At Andrew's flat look, he shook his head. "No, they don't need to know all the details, just enough for them to come down hard on the Moriyamas." He paused to take a deep breath and let it out. "Trust us on this."

Andrew looked over at Abram, who gave a slight nod. "All they'll care about is Spear coming into the country on a fake ID, and then alerting the Feds on how he got out of prison and the country in the first place. The whys are unnecessary details when they're trying to cover their asses and take down a threat."

That was one way to put it, Andrew supposed. "Won't they wonder what happened to the felon in question?"

"He's a wanted man, figures he's laying low. Very low," Stuart said before he finished the omelet. "Oi, this was good. How about another?"

Abram sighed as he fetched Andrew's from the microwave and set them down on the island. "Give me a few minutes. Davis?"

"I'm fine," the enforcer called out from the living room.

While Abram went off to the fridge so he could make another omelet, Stuart eyed Andrew up and down. "He eating?"

"How would I know?" Andrew said, just to annoy the man. When Stuart glared, he shrugged and had a bite of his own breakfast. "Yes."

"Right here," Abram gritted out as he slammed the fridge door shut with his foot.

"You think a piece of toast is enough to get you through the day," Stuart said. "I'm not believing you."

"He eats enough," Andrew insisted. "So you have Drake's phone, and I assume you found some stuff at his hotel room?"

"A little." Stuart shrugged. "Enough to turn things over to Lloyd, but we're still trying to piece together how they knew you were at the bar. Jason swears that there's enough security on the car that it would go off if anyone tampered with it, so they must have someone watching the two of you. Not a good thing."

No, not a good thing at all, especially since Andrew hadn't noticed anyone following him. "We only went to the pub once before."

"Well, no more, even though I trust Murphy."

Abram paused in doing something to the eggs to look over at his uncle. "You going to lock us down again?"

Stuart's expression softened as he stared at his nephew. "Ram... we're going to be careful when we send you out, all right? And you watch yourselves, wherever you go." Andrew could tell it bothered the man, the thought of Abram being followed, of people tracking him down. But it wouldn't do Abram any good to be kept locked up in the house, either. Not when he still bore the scars of the last time Stuart tried to keep him 'safe' and 'tucked away'.

Abram was quiet as he poured the eggs into the pan, and then he gave a slight shrug. "Give Andrew a damn hatchback or something that doesn't stand out so much. That should help."

"Don't listen to him, it's obvious the fear has broken his mind," Andrew argued as he cut up his second omelet.

Stuart huffed a little as he got up to fetch the pot of tea. "Yeah, I'm sure that's it." He tousled Abram's hair and seemed pleased when his nephew gave a look of long-suffering over the gesture. "Hate to break it to you, kiddo, but the midget goth has reached the limit on his car budget."

Abram said something rather unflattering about Stuart's lineage just then in Russian, which was a bit ironic considering that they were related; Andrew hid a slight smirk behind his mug, only to discover that he'd drank all of his coffee already. He waited until Stuart returned to the island to get up to pour some more.

"I think the omelet's missing some arsenic," he murmured in Mandarin into Abram's left ear while up, which made the idiot shiver.

"Don't tempt me," Abram said while he cut up some cheese.

The rest of Stuart's visit was spent with the man chiding them on being careful, on not going out unless it was for work or necessary, and on reporting _any_ unusual calls or texts or... well, anything unusual. Andrew was ready to throttle him after about two minutes of the lecture, but he could tell that Abram mostly didn't mind his uncle's concern and even seemed content to have the man back. It helped that Stuart seemed determined to ignore his last two visits and the reason behind them, to just take Abram and Andrew at face value or whatever. Maybe Jamie had talked sense into the man, maybe he realized that Abram needed Andrew to look after him, maybe he'd just gotten tired of being a jackass and accepted the fact that Abram was a mostly intelligent twenty-five year old.

Or maybe Andrew had missed something while he'd been upstairs, but all that mattered was that Stuart was behaving now.

"Be careful," the man repeated for the eighth time as he pulled on his coat. "Don't go making targets out of yourselves. There's nothing wrong with a lack of excitement, yeah? Give the poor cleaners a break for a few days."

"I think you're talking to the wrong people," Andrew pointed out. "But sure, we'll be good."

"I'm not buying it," Stuart told him, his expression a bit on the disgruntled side. " _Behave._ "

" _Goodbye,_ " Andrew said in the same tone.

Davis laughed as he dragged his boss toward the door. "That went well, didn't it? I think it did. So, no Paris, right? Though I wouldn't mind Cologne, it's going to be Carnival soon. Think we can manage going there sometime in the next-"

Whatever he had to say was cut off by the door closing, which was fine with Andrew; he locked the door behind the two then turned to look at Abram. "I liked it better when he was off sulking."

Abram smiled at that as he returned to the kitchen; it was odd with how big the townhouse was, they spent most of their time in that one room, Andrew realized. When he'd lived in the numerous foster homes, he'd rarely been allowed in any of the kitchens, had been kept out of them for various reasons - so he wouldn't dirty the room, couldn't take any food, wouldn't eat off schedule. When he'd moved in with Tilda and Aaron, he hadn't bothered with it because Tilda didn't cook much or keep it stocked with anything beyond the basics. Nicky had been better with the house in Columbia... but the three of them didn't bother with cooking, they just ordered delivery or grabbed something to bring home all the time. Kevin had insisted on healthy food... but nothing that had interested Andrew.

Even before Abram had gotten it into his head to cook for Andrew, it had been a place for them to gather together, first because it had been 'neutral' ground outside of their respective rooms, and probably because it was within easy reach of food and drinks.

Now it was somewhere he could sit and enjoy some coffee or whiskey while Abram worked or made him something to eat, to munch on the snacks that Bren always stocked for him while Abram translated or chatted on the phone. It was... comfortable. It was an odd bit of normalcy, Andrew supposed.

"So what's the big deal about glazed tiles?" he asked as he went to refill his mug.

Abram paused in washing dishes to give him a puzzled look. "Eh?" Then he glanced at the floor. "These are unglazed, which means the clay soaks up stuff." When Andrew just gazed back at him, he clicked his tongue. "Like blood. Then they’re ruined."

Andrew glanced down at the pale red and tan tiles. "Issues, _babe_. _Issues_."

"I like to think of it as more of a _problem_ , trying to figure out where best to stab one's roommate so as to not cause any major redecorating problems," Abram commented in an offhand tone. "Semantics, no, _hon_?"

"Funny, I'm more focused on that 'stab one's roommate' part," Andrew said as he fixed his coffee.

"Sounds like an _issue_ of your own." Abram gave Andrew a slight, pleased smile as he leaned against the island.

Was this idiot for real? Sometimes Andrew wasn’t certain about it, about how Abram was almost perfect. The attractive face and body, the attitude, the _mouth_. One hook after another to draw Andrew in and ensnare him, and on top of it all, Abram _listened_. He knew the importance of boundaries.

The importance in spending the night torturing a man who had trampled all over those boundaries.

Oh, the flaws were indeed there. The martyr complex and the obliviousness, the willingness to forgive his family almost anything because they were family. Andrew could probably spend some time writing up a list if he tried, but it was all outweighed by the fact that what he wanted? What drew him in? The damn idiot had it in spades and wasn't that yet another example of how life wasn't fair? How it was all one big joke with _Andrew Minyard_ as the butt of it all?

Almost everyone treated Andrew as the 'monster', even his own brother. Aaron had wanted to be saved, but had never for _one_ second spared a thought on how Andrew would go about that or even what it would cost anyone - he just cared about himself, himself and his future. Kevin had come to Andrew because he counted on Andrew to scare away Riko. Wymack had wanted Andrew to help out his precious Foxes, and what a quid pro quo relationship _that_ had been. The only ones who saw past the labels slapped on Andrew - 'dangerous', 'unstable', 'mentally ill', etc. - had been Renee and Nicky and Bee. And there was only so close they dared to get, only so close he dared to let them get.

Abram? He didn't seem to even notice any of the warning signs that had held off the others, besides Andrew's need for space, his dislike to not be touched. He wasn't scared off by Andrew's bad attitude, by the put downs, by the bad days and the need to lash out. Hell, he even understood all of it.

Once again, Andrew was struck with the thought that this was all too much, was too good to be real. Yet Abram stood there in front of him with a confused look on his face as if trying to figure out why Andrew was staring at him without saying a word.

"Okay, not enough sleep for this conversation?" Abram cocked his head to the side. "Oh! I know, maybe a run will help wake you up."

"Just... _shut up_ ," Andrew said as he closed the space between them. "I'm trying to figure out if you're real."

"Huh, maybe things are more existential than I thought."

" _Shut up_ ," Andrew ordered as he held up his hands and, when Abram just sighed and didn't object, threaded his fingers through the idiot's tousled hair.

Nicky had said that there was something going on here, that Andrew had to care about Abram because... _because_. Stuart was freaking out over his darling 'Ram' - over a young man who had calmly sipped his tea and munched on a scone while suggesting that Andrew leave off slicing through Drake's tattoos and give breaking his fingers and toes a try for a while. Because it was oh so clear that 'darling Ram' needed to be coddled and protected from the big bad world, that he was this _delicate_ thing. As if Andrew hadn't seen him take hits during their outings and shrug them off as if they were nothing.

So why worry about what Andrew could do to him?

"What do you think we're doing?"

Abram blinked at that. "Uhm, right now? Talking."

That earned the idiot a tug to his hair. "No, what we're _doing_. _This_."

Those fake grey eyes narrowed in anger. "Well, you're being a bit of a prat and I'm about five seconds away from going for a run. That’s if I don’t stab you first for being a prat."

Oh yes, 'obliviousness' was indeed a massive flaw. "I meant you and me."

"We're - _oh_." Abram blinked a little at that. "Ah... huh." He chewed on his bottom lip as his expression shifted into confusion. "Do we have to know what we're doing?"

Andrew stared at him for a few seconds upon hearing that, his fingers tangled tight enough in those wavy black looks that he could easily see the red roots, and let out a slow breath. From the mouths of idiots, or something like that. "Right." Who said they had to know everything? Other than that Andrew trusted Abram, and Abram obviously trusted him to let him stand here like this, to hold onto him like this.

Then Andrew gave his friend's head a harsh shake, which startled out another of those lovely Russian curses. "No fucking running this morning. Day. Whatever," he said before he shoved Abram away. "For that, you're taking me out to dinner, and it's not going to be some _fry_ place."

"I'm about to glaze the damn tiles myself," Abram muttered as he combed back his disheveled hair. "It can't be any harder than putting up with you on a daily basis."

"Says the man who thinks a real day's work is typing and playing with verbs." Andrew sneered at his friend as he went to check if there was any more coffee left.

"I'm sorry, how often do I see you _move_ in any given day, other than to get a new pint of ice cream? I'm surprised you haven't installed a freezer in the living room yet," Abram snarked as he made a rude gesture in Andrew's direction.

Hmm, that had possibilities, didn't it?

Abram noticed Andrew glancing in the living room and shook his head. " _No_."

"No sense of vision," Andrew complained as he began to brew a new pot of coffee.

"No desire for diabetes, is what it is. You'll just have to get up and walk a few dozen meters each day, oh what a hard life it is. Give me a moment here." Abram did something with his phone, and all of a sudden there was the sound of violin strings being played. "I'm trying to work up a tear, honest."

Andrew gave him a flat look for several seconds while the sound played on. "That running you wanted to do? Better start now."

Abram smiled at him for a couple of seconds with the phone held up, and as soon as Andrew took a step forward, was off for his bedroom, his rare laughter filling the first floor as he put his damn speed to good use.

Andrew only bothered to give chase about halfway through the living room, knowing very well that he'd never catch up and not about to deal with stairs at the moment, even if there would be some satisfaction in breaking the idiot's phone. He slowed down and turned around to head back into the kitchen, and pulled out a pint of ice cream to enjoy while the fresh pot of coffee brewed.

All he knew was that dinner was going to be at a _very_ expensive restaurant.

*******

Abram began to work through the documents that Bren had dropped off, to scan the necessary ones with his phone and translate everything that had been sent; some of Xue's 'colleagues' were buying more property in the city, were diversifying their investments in the increasingly popular market, so the family would be busy setting up all of the dummy accounts and transferring funds and maintaining the property. Over an hour had gone by after he had started into the work, with Andrew wandering in and out of the kitchen twice, and Abram was only a third through the stack.

Abram got up to put on a fresh pot of tea, eschewing coffee for the time being, and had just set aside another document when he saw the next one in the stack. It took him a moment to mentally switch gears from Mandarin to English, to understand what he was reading.

It was a copy of the missing person's report filed for both him and his mother. Well, for Nathaniel and Mary Wesninski.

He hadn't... he hadn't known that his father had done such a thing, but he supposed that it made sense, in a way. The man would have wanted to make some attempt at appearances, to placate the authorities in some manner considering that his wife and child had 'vanished'. Abram flinched as he read the lines listing his appearance - his old appearance. The natural color of his eyes and hair, the same as Nathan Wesninski.

He'd forgotten that his mother's hair had been ash blonde. She'd dyed it so many colors after all... it had been such a dark shade of brown when - he always thought of her when she- _ash blonde_.

Beneath that was a picture from the last Christmas in Baltimore, of the three of them grouped together for some stupid portrait. Of Nathan standing there with an awful, smug grin on his face, his left hand wrapped around a barely smiling Mary's hip and his right gripping a solemn Nathaniel's shoulder. Abram could still remember the feel of those thick fingers digging into his flesh, how he had struggled not to flinch, to not move at all or show any emotion while the picture had been taken. How there had been a new cut beneath the red sweater, snaking its way across his ribs, because he'd dared to say to a teacher that he wasn't looking forward to the holiday break. Wasn't looking forward to spending almost two weeks at home every day.

His fingers trembled as he pushed the photo reproduction aside, only to reveal another one from when he was about five years old, his expression haunted and left arm bearing a cast. It was from when he had 'talked back' to Lola (you're not my mother, not Mum, I don't hafta listen to you) and her brother Romero had 'taught him some manners'. When his mother had first taught him to lie to the doctors (no more running down the stairs, all right?). When his father had first taught him that it wasn't just 'bad people' he used his knives on, but bad boys, too.

Nathaniel had much preferred the broken arm.

Unable to look at the picture anymore, he went to push it aside as well, to flip it over, but his hands were shaking too much. His hands were shaking and his chest hurt, his throat had gone tight, a loud noise filling his head as he stared down at the awful thing, as-

And then the world spun around him as he was yanked off of the stool, and when his vision finally settled Andrew was in front of him, handsome face set in a rare display of anger and fingers digging into Abram's upper arms. Andrew’s lips moved, but Abram couldn't hear him, could only hear the loud rushing sound in his head as the world once more wavered around him.

He ended up on his knees and Andrew followed him down; for a moment there was a painful bite into his arms and then Abram was jerked forward until his head rested against Andrew's chest and something soothing stroked over his head and through his hair and along the nape of his neck.

'-the, dammit, _fucking breathe_!"

Breathe? _Oh_.

Abram fought past the tightness in his throat, in his chest, and forced himself to breathe in. It hurt, oh did that first lungful of air _burn_ down his throat, but it helped with the ache in his head, to dispel that loud noise, almost as much as the soothing touch of Andrew's fingers.

He gasped as he fumbled for Andrew’s shoulders, for something to hold on to just then, and closed his eyes as he slumped forward. The past and present slammed together in his head and… and he couldn’t think for a moment, could only rest against the solid presence near him.

“Suh-sorry,” he managed to stutter out after a couple of seconds as he cracked open his eyes.

“Your fucking issues,” Andrew said as he continued to rub against Abram’s nape. “Should charge you for each one. Could get another damn car.”

Abram huffed at that as he closed his eyes again and gave in to the sense of exhaustion weighing him down just then. “Not ‘nother one.”

“Yes,” Andrew insisted as he pulled Abram even closer. “Imagine how much it’ll piss off Ally.”

Despite everything, that startled a slight huff of laughter out of Abram as he curled up against his friend, as he allowed his body to fit against Andrew’s. He needed the warmth, he needed the comfort; he remembered fitting into the twin beds with his mother, how she had always pulled him against her in fear as if to ensure that he was still there. It wasn’t quite the same thing… he felt more at ease with Andrew, felt… it was odd, what he felt with Andrew. He just knew that there was more of a sense of peace when he was with Andrew, was a feeling that he could let go, could relax, rather than a sense of desperation.

They remained like that for what felt like a minute or two, until Andrew pushed him away. “Okay, what set you off this time? Don’t tell me it was a damn verb conjunctive or something. I may have to stab you myself, then.”

“Asshole much?”

“What else is new?” Still, Andrew’s hands on Abram’s arms were gentle as he helped Abram to his feet.

Abram took a deep breath to center himself, to center himself in the _present,_ before he pulled away to look at the island where his laptop and all the documents were still spread out. “Ah, somehow… somehow these got sent.” He motioned to the photos and legal document reproductions.

Andrew looked at the papers for a moment, his expression blank, and then there was a subtle shift when he realized what was spread out over the marble surface. There was a flash of… of _something_ when he looked at the photos, and then he was pulling out his phone and flicking over the screen.

“Who the fuck handled the last document package for Abram?” he spat out at whoever it was he’d called, his expression so blank that Abram took a step back. “Because someone put a little ‘extra’ stuff in it,” he said as he crumpled the Christmas picture beneath his fingers. “Yeah, it’s more Moriyama shit, and it’s internal this time, I’m thinking,” he snapped. “Oh, I don’t know,” he said after a slight pause. “Pictures of your fucking sister playing house with Wesninski, maybe? He actually filed a missing persons’ case over them?” Andrew stared off in the distance as someone – Abram assumed his uncle – spoke. “Yeah, now you’re getting it.” Andrew scoffed, the sound loud in the otherwise quiet kitchen. “What do you think? I’ll take care of it on this end, just find the fucking leak.” Then he hung up and tossed the phone onto the marble counter.

Things were quiet for a couple of seconds before Abram reached for the papers, only for Andrew to grab his fingers. “Don’t,” his friend told him.

“But I didn’t-“

“Leave them alone,” Andrew insisted.

“But what if they-“

“ _Don’t_ ,” Andrew repeated as he turned around, his back to the island as he tugged Abram closer. “It’s just a bunch of bullshit.”

“It’s my past,” Abram said, his voice ragged as he thought about those days back in Baltimore, about his mother doing her best to shield him from his father and Lola and DiMaccio and-

“Don’t,” Andrew said, his voice rough and low. “It doesn’t matter anymore, you’re here now.”

“But it still finds me, doesn’t it?” Abram pointed out. “It always finds me.”

Andrew pulled him closer until Abram fit between his friend’s thighs, until he was pressed against Andrew’s muscular chest and felt those strong arms wrap around him. It should have panicked him, being so close to another person, being so entrapped… but it was Andrew. “It doesn’t matter, because you’re here.”

For a moment Abram wanted to ask Andrew how he’d felt when Drake had tracked him down, and then he thought better of it, he realized just how wrong that would be – they would only be tearing at each other when it really was his father who was behind everything. “Sometimes I feel as if I never escaped, you know. As if I’m still trapped in that horrid home on East Highfield Road.” He could still recall the brick façade, the elaborate staircase, the plaster walls and-

He didn’t realize that he must have slipped into a panic attack again until Andrew’s hand cupped the back of his neck and his face was tucked against Andrew’s shoulder. He allowed himself a few seconds to breathe in deep, to rest against his friend and then he shuddered as he pulled away a few inches. “Dammit. _Dammit_.” Rubbing at his eyes hard enough to dislodge the contacts, he glared at Andrew. “I hate this.” He hated letting anything to do with his father affect him like this – the bastard had too much control over his life for too long.

Andrew swiped at something below Abram’s left eye, and it took him a moment to realize it was his contact, having fallen out of his eye. Abram went stiff at the realization… and then let out a shaky breath. His friend knew the truth already, what did it matter? He’d already seen it… and there was the damn document right there, on the table. “He only has the power over you that you let him have.”

A weak laugh slipped from Abram. “It’s not so simple, dammit.” He shook his head as he rubbed the other contact from his right eye. “I see him every time I look in the mirror. I see him all the time in my nightmares. He’s left his marks all over my body.” After flicking the lens free, Abram stared at Andrew. “He’s torn into the family I’ve found here and he won’t _fucking let go_.”

Warm hands cupped Abram’s face as Andrew stared at him with cool hazel eyes.  “Then I’ll make him let go. Him and the fucking Moriyamas. No one owns you. No one has a claim on you. _No one_.”

For a moment Abram couldn’t speak, could barely breathe. “I… for so long, my memory of the man… it’s pain. Nothing but pain.” Even before the incident of the broken arm, of the curling scar along his abdomen, there had been hits and choking holds and smotherings and burns and… he didn’t want to think of it any more. “I can’t remember anything but pain and fear when it comes to him.” That’s what ‘father’ meant to Abram. To Nathaniel.

“Then it’s time you learn to think of him as something else.” Andrew’s thumbs stroked beneath Abram’s eyes. “Like I did with Drake.”

That wrung a weak chuckle from him. “If you manage to string my father up and hand him over as a gift to me….” Abram slumped forward again, and Andrew allowed it. “I’ll buy you a damn freezer for the living room and keep it stocked with ice cream myself.”

“I believe we have a deal.” Andrew’s fingers slid through Abram’s hair for a few seconds then gave the strands a gentle tug. “Screw glazing these tiles, we need carpet here or something. Hard as fuck.” Then he urged Abram to stand up straight.

“Just as difficult to get blood out of the thing,” Abram complained as he regained his feet, only wavering a little once he was upright. He was ushered over to a stool – not the one he’d been sitting on, but farther away from the stack of papers, which Andrew was quick to snatch away. His friend rolled them up and stuck them in the left back pocket of his jeans before he went over to check the remaining tea then began brewing a fresh pot.

Abram rubbed at his left wrist for a moment then dragged the laptop closer so he could make sure all of the work was saved; something told him he wouldn’t be in the right frame of mind to keep on translating that day, even if Andrew gave him back the documents. So he saved the completed work and sent if off to Jamie.

He had finished one cup of tea (well, he swore it had been half Baileys, but he’d go with it being tea for the sake of it), and was waiting for Andrew to fix him another when there was the alert about the alarm being disengaged, right before Stuart entered the house. A very anxious Stuart, judging from the look on his uncle’s face.

“Are you all right?” he asked as he came right up to Abram, his coat flaring behind him in his haste; meanwhile, a solemn Davis went over to Andrew. His uncle’s eyes widened for a moment, and Abram remembered about taking out the contacts.

“I’m fine,” he said, and sighed when his uncle scowled at him. “No, I’m fine.” He brushed aside his hair and frowned when his hand trembled a little, and hated that his uncle caught that. “It shook me up, seeing the pictures.” He hadn’t seen his mother like that in... well, since he’d left Baltimore. The pictures that Uncle Stuart and Uncle Will displayed were all of her when she was so much younger, of when she was a child.

It was as if no one wanted a reminder of her going off to America, of what had happened there.

Of Nathan Wesninski.

Abram could very well understand that – if he could reach into his brain and excise everything to do with his father? He would. He would risk losing all those years, all those memories for some sort of relief of the nightmares. But it would never happen. The only thing he could do was keep moving forward and hope one day that the bastard slowed down enough that a rival took him out. That Nathan or his people slipped up enough that the Feds finally had enough to put him away for good.

Abram started when Stuart reached out to touch his other hand, then stilled when he remembered where he was, that he was in the kitchen and surrounded by people he cared about, whom he trusted. “You look like shite. Just… did you eat yet? Let me… maybe some toast.” Stuart reached out to rest his hand on Abram’s head for a moment then rubbed at Abram’s hair before moving away.

When Stuart got to the counter, Davis showed him the documents he’d taken from Andrew – showed him the pictures and whatever else had been in there, whatever Abram hadn’t seen yet. He noticed the way his uncle’s expression turned grim, and then Andrew was in front of him with another mug of ‘tea’.

“You do look like shit.”

“Thank you so much for that observation, _hon_.” Abram sighed as he accepted the mug. “Maybe a run will make me feel better.” Getting out and moving about, running as if he didn’t have to stop… it helped.

“ _No_ ,” both Andrew and Stuart said at the same time.

“You’re not going anywhere, not after _this_.” Stuart held up the papers.

“I really will hamstring you, _babe_ ,” Andrew insisted. “Sit down and drink your damn tea.”

A bit startled at the two men being in agreement on something, Abram stared over at Davis, who just grinned and shook his head in a clear sign that Abram was on his own.

“I’m not a-“

“ _No_!” both of them shouted.

Abram made a rude gesture and called them filthy bastards in Russian before he picked up his mug. For some reason Andrew seemed amused by that, while Stuart returned the papers to Davis so he could start on the toast.

Andrew put on a pot of coffee (probably so he could have some with whisky) and was munching on some biscuits next to Abram when Stuart set a plate of toast next to Abram. “Now eat that,” he ordered. “We’re going to take these back to Jamie and Jason, see if we can’t figure out who put that crap in there.” His jaw worked for a moment, probably because of the photos and everything – the photos of Mary. Abram had to wonder if there hadn’t been a ‘lovely’ note as well, something to taunt him about his time in Baltimore and what awaited for him once the Moriyamas got their hands on him again. Or what would happen to his family if he didn’t give up.

“What about the work?”

“I’ll have Liz come by with some fresh papers later,” Stuart said as he buttoned up his coat. “Now eat.” When Abram shook his head but picked up one of the pieces of toast, Stuart looked over at Andrew. “Watch him, all right? Sure those pricks will try something else soon.”

“I can watch myself,” Abram mumbled around a bite of bread.

“I’m thinking a collar and leash, maybe even a kennel. That should keep him out of trouble.” Andrew just gave a bland look back when Stuart flipped him off before finally leaving.

“Things were so quiet before you got here,” Davis said in an almost mournful manner before he closed the door behind him. Andrew didn’t seem bothered by the complaint, since he just finished off the packet of biscuits while Abram nibbled on his toast.

Once the snacks were gone, Abram was cajoled into the living room, where he curled up on the loveseat with another mug of ‘tea’ while Andrew started a fire and then flipped through the cable stations to find a movie Abram hadn’t seen (not difficult to do) and that Andrew wanted to watch (a bit harder). It… it was welcomed, the mindlessness of just sitting there and watching some movie that didn’t seem to make much sense, with people in it Abram didn’t really know. He didn’t have to think (the plot certainly didn’t stand up to much thought), yet focusing on what was in front of him kept him from dwelling on what had happened earlier.

They watched something else once the first movie was done, and then Bren showed up with some food from Abram’s favorite Thai restaurant.

“It’s not good,” he told the two of them as he set the take-away bags down on the island. “You don’t want to be around Jamie or Stuart right now if you can help it, and we won’t even talk about Will. They’re double-checking everyone to track down who might have sold out to the Moriyamas, and it’s not going to be pretty when they find the bastard.” Hatred glittered in Bren’s brown eyes as he pushed away from the island.

Andrew came over to check the containers, his expression the usual bland mask as he opened the top one. “And where were you when the paperwork was being put together, hmm?”

Abram expected Bren to take offense at that, considering how long he’d worked for the family, how long he’d looked after _Abram_ , but all the man did was huff a little and fold his arms over his chest. “Was in Covent Garden all day, dealing with some idiots.” Probably some of the roving gangs who liked to prey on the tourists and often got out of hand. “Me and Andrea. You honestly think Stuart would let me over here without clearing things first?”

“Never hurts to double-check,” Andrew said with a slight shrug. “Now where’s the fucking fried banana rolls?”

“Beneath your pad thai, you blind git,” Bren gritted out. “Although right now? I think I could be persuaded by the enemy to do something a bit disloyal.”

Andrew flipped him off as he grabbed his containers then sat down at the one end of the island, which left Abram to sigh and grab his red curry. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, well, you’re all right,” Bren insisted. “Let’s hope your next boyfriend is a bit better.”

Abram nearly choked on the spring roll he’d just bitten into, while Andrew rested his elbows on the marble counter and leaned forward. “’Well, Stuart,” he said in a flat tone, “you see, he was acting all suspicious and I didn’t want to take any chances with your darling Ram so I stabbed first and figured I’d ask questions later. So sorry about the mess’.”

Bren laughed as he grabbed his coat and keys. “Yeah, yeah. I can take a hint. Enjoy your dinner, you two.”

Getting up to go fetch some wine after… well, after _that_ , Abram sighed when he spotted his friend snagging the remaining spring roll. “Really? Don’t you have enough to eat?”

“I’m a growing boy,” Andrew said before he ate the thing in a couple of bites.

It was _so_ time for the wine. Abram poured himself a very full glass before he sat down… only to watch Andrew root around in his container of curry before apparently deciding that it wasn’t ‘interesting’ enough to steal. “I’m sorry, but I thought you were twenty-six and not sixteen. Going through a second puberty?”

The bastard stole his wine.

“Got a problem?” Andrew asked as he held the glass in his left hand while he stabbed at his noodles with a fork in his right.

“I’m beginning to see all those comments about me and my issues – there has to be some reason why I’m subjecting myself to this,” Abram remarked as he stirred around the rice before taking a bite.

“They say acceptance is the first step to healing, or some such shit like that.”

“Sounds like something that comes with a fortune cookie.” Abram made an attempt at Andrew’s noodles, and got his fork knocked aside and a rather displeased look for his troubles.

“I had to pick up something from all those years of therapy.”

“Other than proof it doesn’t work?” Abram smiled as he got up to fetch another glass of wine; he knew what Andrew was doing and appreciated his friend’s brusque method much better than Stuart’s fussing.

“I don’t know, you’re still alive, aren’t you? I think I’ve learned to handle annoyances so much better,” Andrew drawled.

“Aw, you care, _hon_. You really care,” Abram said as he sat back down at the island.

“What can I say, it was love at first sight, me and that McLaren.”

Abram raised his wineglass at that verbal jab then focused on his dinner – what still remained of it, thanks to a certain glutton – as did Andrew. He got up about halfway through to refill their glasses, and soon enough everything was finished.

So he knew something was coming when _Andrew_ cleared the containers and fetched another bottle of wine.

“Photos are that bad?” he asked as he topped off Abram’s empty glass.

Abram thought about the question for a moment before he answered. “You know, they talk about my mum… my mother a bit. At least, those who aren’t the immediate family.” He gave his friend a wan smile. “Uncle Stuart and Uncle Will… well, Uncle Stuart really, he only really brings her up from time to time when he’s trying to prove a point. Uncle Will and Aunt Miriam, they don’t talk much about her at all, which means that Jamie and Ally don’t talk about her, either.

“So while I think about her….” Abram paused to rub at the tattoo on his arm for a couple of seconds, then had some more wine. “I don’t like to think about _then_. About Baltimore. Because we both… it wasn’t a good place for either of us. And afterward? We were so busy, being on the run. Were always changing our looks and our names and our backstories.” He gave a little laugh at that and had some more wine. “I did nothing but lie for almost seven years. I lied a lot for the years before then, but I don’t think I told any truths during those years on the run. As much as I know people would look on in horror at the life I have now?” He smiled at Andrew. “It’s the most honest one I’ve ever led.” Wasn’t that saying something? He could be somewhat honest now when he led the life of a gangster, when he forged documents and practically killed on a weekly basis.

Andrew seemed to consider all of that before he nodded. “So seeing those pictures… what? Reminded you of her, of that life?” It was clear he was trying to understand, probably because of his promise to Abram.

“Because I haven’t seen my mother like that in years.” Abram gave a slight laugh. “Haven’t really seen a picture of her as an adult in years, to be honest. And for it to be from _then_? To remind me of what my father did to both of us? It was a bit much,” he admitted before he picked up the glass and drained it dry.

“Even though it sounds like she didn’t do anything but fuck up your life?”

This again. Abram let out a slow breath as he set the glass down on the marble surface. “Look, I know… oh how I know,” he said with a brittle laugh. “I know she wasn’t perfect. But what else did I have?” he asked. “A man who was slowly cutting me to pieces and who eventually sold me off? Or the Feds? What would they have done to me, hmm? Shuffled me off to some safe house, to some family they _thought_ could deal with me, and then all of us could be dead when my father tracked us down?”

For once, Andrew had the grace to look away. “She could have run sooner. She could have called Stuart, instead of leaving it to you.”

“Maybe,” Abram admitted. “But you can’t change the past.” He didn’t know why his mother had never done it – had never reached out to her family other than those few days when they had first left the States, but he had a feeling that pride played into it. That she never wanted to admit just how much she had messed up, marrying Nathan Wesninski. That she didn’t want to be the Hatford baby anymore, that she wanted to prove that she could stand on her own feet to the end.

Well, she had done that in her own way. She’d died on her own. She’d died with no one but Abram there. Way to prove a point, Mum. He scrubbed at his face as he thought about the stench of burnt human flesh, of how he hated beaches to this day, of how even driving bothered him. Because he could still remember driving the car with her gasping out her last breaths beside him, could remember trying to get those last few miles out, could remember trying to get somewhere… _somewhere_ safe and failing.

He’d failed his mother, but he wouldn’t fail her family. He’d do whatever it took to keep them safe, would deal with Jain and face down his own father and the Moriyamas. Would carve through the Carcajou and anyone else who aligned with them. Would take down anyone who thought that Jamie wasn’t good enough, that she didn’t have what it took to be Will’s heir. Because while he would do whatever was necessary for his family, he would do it from the shadows. He wouldn’t be his father anymore than was necessary, wouldn’t stand out, wouldn’t strive to take the reins of anything.

He didn’t need anything more than he already had. He had a home at last, and that was more than enough. It was more than he’d had for over half of his life.

It had been such a foreign concept to him, until he’d made that call to Uncle Stuart.

Things were quiet for a minute or two, until Andrew got up to refill both of their glasses. As he came over to Abram, he looked down at him with an assessing gaze. “What the hell is so amazing about the past?”

Abram managed a wan smile at that. “Nothing, as far as I can tell.”

“Then just let it go.” Andrew set the bottle down on the counter and then reached for Abram, his motions slow as if giving Abram time to pull away. “It’s gone, so just let it go. Worry about the present or the future, so just let the rest go.”

“Yeah, let me just ignore everything that’s happened to me so easily,” Abram didn’t quite joke.

“It does nothing but hold you back,” Andrew insisted. “Do yourself a favor and shed a few issues, yeah?”

“Easier said than done.” Abram was tempted to throw the wine in his friend’s face, but he’d rather drink it when all was said and done. “I happen to like all of my issues, to be honest. They keep me company.” He smiled as he picked up the glass and drained its contents.

Andrew was quiet for a moment, and then he leaned in to touch Abram’s right cheek. “You know, I much prefer your real eyes,” he said in a quiet voice, which made Abram flinch as he remembered about the missing contacts. “Your real eyes and your real hair color.”

Abram flinched at that, at the gentleness of the touch and the meaning behind the words themselves. “How do you even-” He stopped himself there, because he realized that Andrew must have looked up pictures of his father, must have figured it out. “I look like him, dammit.”

“You look like yourself,” Andrew insisted. “Hiding things just gives him more power over you.”

“What would you know?” Abram asked as he glared at his friend. “How would you feel, looking in the mirror every day and seeing the bastard who had tortured you for years? Who had killed your mother? At showing that face to the men who had taken you in?”

All he got was a blank look in return from Andrew as he slid his fingers into Abram’s hair. “You look like you. Learn to let a few fucking issues go before they eat you up alive.”

That prompted a weak laugh from Abram. “Excuse me, but you said that you went through therapy, yes? Really?” Because he wasn’t seeing it just then.

The fingers tightened in his hair. “No one likes a smartass, Hatford.”

“Ah, my apologies,” Abram murmured as he looked up at Andrew.

“I thought you said you gave up on lying,” Andrew said as he leaned in a little closer.

“No, I said this has been the most honest I’ve ever been,” Abram clarified.

“I’ll know better from now on.” Andrew stared down at him, his expression mostly blank except for something intent in those hazel eyes of his. “Yes or no?”

For a moment Abram hesitated, because it had been a trying day, a stressful day. Because part of him wanted to pull away and hide away his face, his eyes… but Andrew had already seen them, already knew the truth. What did it matter anymore, really?

Besides, after everything that had happened… here was one person who hadn’t been driven away, who didn’t seem to care about Abram’s past. So he met Andrew’s gaze and answered back ‘yes’.

Andrew used the hold he had on Abram’s hair to pull him forward a little, to close the space between them for a kiss that soon left Abram breathless. That soon made him forget about all the awfulness of the day when he had Andrew’s mouth on his own, Andrew’s body pressed against him.

It was the first time they’d done anything… well, anything like _this_ in the last couple of days, since Drake. Part of Abram wanted to pull away, to be alone – his mother’s voice echoed in his head just then about how bad it was to trust anyone, to let them this close. Yet she wasn’t there, hadn’t been there for so long and it felt so good, what Andrew did to him. To let Andrew in.

A slight moan slipped free and his hands raised up in the air, which caused Andrew to pull away enough to look at Abram. “Get up,” he breathed out as he settled Abram’s left hand on his shoulder.

“Ah?” Abram allowed himself to be pulled from the stool and led toward the bit of wall between the kitchen and the living room, which he was pushed against before being kissed again. Allowed Andrew to press against him, body so solid and warm when Abram still felt a slight disconnect from everything, when part of him still felt the tug of those photos. Yet the longer Andrew kissed him and touched him, the more centered he felt.

It was good, having Andrew touch him like this. Having Andrew’s mouth on him, lips insistent yet not harsh, teeth skimming along sensitive skin but never biting down too hard. Abram shivered at the feel of stubble along his neck, at calloused fingers slipping beneath his shirt, and let out a broken curse in Ukrainian as his hips jerked forward.

It surprised him when Andrew ground his hips into Abram’s thigh as a result, when Abram felt a growing hardness against him. He opened his eyes and found Andrew staring at him, face a little too blank just then, and managed a slight nod before his hips were tugged on – he got the hint and slumped down a little, allowed his feet to slide a bit on the tile floor so the next time they rocked together… oohhh.

His breath caught as he leaned in for another kiss, as his fingers clenched at Andrew’s shoulders, his hips moving all the while for more of that wonderful friction. Dammit, Andrew felt so good, all of it felt so good: the weight of his friend against him, the burn of pleasure building inside, the harsh pant of air along his neck before Andrew’s mouth latched on again, the way Andrew’s fingers pressed against his skin as they stroked along it as if unwilling to pull away.

Abram longed to feel his way along his friend’s body, too. To stroke along the strong back and impressive chest, to make Andrew shiver like he was doing from teasing touches, but he hadn’t been given permission. Had a feeling that right now, this was all Andrew was willing to give and kept his eyes closed as it was so he could just feel, could spare his friend having to hide anything, considering that blank look and the way Andrew did his best to keep quiet even as he ground harder against Abram, as his hand splayed against the small of Abram’s back to pull him forward and his face was buried in the crock of Abram’s neck.

Murmuring nonsense in whatever language came across his tongue, Abram let his head fall back against the wall and allowed the pleasure to wash through him, gave in to everything that Andrew made him feel in a way he never allowed himself with anyone else. It wasn’t something forced upon him, wasn’t something to endure, it… Andrew made him want it. He clung to that realization as he held on to his friend, as he stuttered out Andrew’s name while he came.

Andrew’s head lifted from his neck and fingers tightened in Abram’s hair, and Abram could hear his friend’s breathing grow harsher even as he kept his eyes closed. Andrew’s thrusts sped up while they grew more erratic, and just as Abram’s own breathing evened out, Andrew’s fingers tightened enough in his hair to hurt and he pressed hard against Abram to spark a moment’s panic.

Before Abram could do anything, could go for a knife or shove Andrew away, his friend loosened his grip and slumped a little, just rested against him for a moment, then took an unsteady step back. At that point Abram opened his eyes and inhaled a deep breath; he noticed that Andrew’s face was flushed but wearing that blank mask again.

They both were still for several seconds, during which the feeling of euphoria faded from Abram and he had to admit that some unpleasant things were making themselves noticeable, and then Andrew huffed. “Shower.”

“Yes, I agree.” Abram grimaced as he tugged on the waistband of his cotton pants. “But, uhm….” He felt his face heat up. “Thanks?” What did one say after something like that? ‘I appreciate the frottage, maybe next time we’ll try it without the clothes?’ Oh god… Andrew _without_ clothes. Abram did not need that mental image right now.

As it was, the person in question gave him a flat look. “You’re in idiot.”

Well, that helped to cool any returning ardor, didn’t it? “Agreed,” Abram said through gritted teeth as he pushed away from the wall. Walking just then was a little uncomfortable, but it would be worth it to get to his bathroom so he could clean up. At least he didn’t have as far to go as a certain asshole.

It felt very good to rid himself of his soiled clothes and step into his shower, though he wasn’t as happy once he finished and caught sight of himself in the mirror while drying off; first, there was the new set of hickeys, which Stuart would just _love_. Second, he realized that he’d never put in another pair of contacts, and when he went to reach for a new pair… should he even bother? Andrew knew what he looked like without them, after all.

Hesitating for a minute, Abram decided to leave them out before he went downstairs to finish cleaning up after their dinner.

*******

Andrew stirred his spoon in the pint of chocolate fudge ice cream while he leaned against the counter and watched Abram work on the documents that Liz had dropped off while the idiot had been in the shower after their morning workout. Maybe because they planned to spend the day at home (were basically under orders to spend the day at home), he’d left the grey contacts out again, though he had touched up the roots of his hair at some point last night. If that wasn’t a mixed signal right there….

It had been quite a sight, Abram with his face flushed from pleasure, those blue eyes darkened with desire and tousled black strands falling onto his face. Andrew had almost wished that his idiot had kept those eyes opened the entire time they’d gotten each other off… but it had been… well, he’d managed to stay there, to allow himself to come as well only because Abram _had_ kept his eyes closed and his hands on Andrew’s shoulders, to not say anything but Andrew’s name there at the end.

He hadn’t even allowed himself that much with Roland, so why with Abram? Was it because of Drake? Because Abram understood? Because of the open misery that had been on Abram’s face last night?

Because Andrew wanted the idiot so damn much?

Either way, nothing had been said after they’d both gone upstairs to wash off; Abram had come down to clean up a few things while Andrew had indulged in ice cream much like he was doing now, there had been a peaceful quiet while Andrew watched a little more T.V. and Abram checked something on his laptop, then they had both retreated to their rooms.

Nothing else had been said when they’d met up to work out that morning, either. Abram had teased him a little about going out for a run, Andrew had ‘teased’ back about breaking the idiot’s ankles until Abram had smiled and got on the damn treadmill. Andrew got a little cardio in on the stair climber than focused on the weights, and finished before his friend had showered and been enjoying some coffee when Liz had stopped by.

Abram got to work after a simple breakfast (scrambled eggs and toast), leaving Andrew without much to do but deal with these stupid thoughts in his head. Perhaps he should bring up learning Russian soon, just to give him a new distraction. There was only so much texting with Nicky and Renee that he could take in a single day.

Though maybe Stuart would give him a call soon about the traitor and he could go off to have some ‘fun’ with that.

Finished with the ice cream, he threw the spoon in the sink and then the empty pint in the trash when Abram spoke up before he could leave the kitchen. “What did you tell Ally about the car again?”

“Hmm?” Andrew looked over to see a rather annoyed expression on his friend’s face. “I believe it was that I’d allow him an hour with the McLaren for two-thirds of his liver, why?”

Abram pushed away his laptop. “He’s asking about it again. Something about it being a shame that it’s just sitting in the garage.” Now he appeared rather chagrined about something. “Something tells me he thinks I’m easier to approach on this matter than you. That just won’t do.”

“Well to be fair, you’ve just offered to remove body parts, not feed them to him,” Andrew pointed out as he leaned against the island next to Abram. “Apparently, you’re not inventive enough.”

“Oh, I can be inventive,” Abram swore. “I can indeed. Ally is _very_ inspirational.”

“He’s going to be very perforated if he touches my car,” Andrew insisted. “What’s the fascination with it?”

Abram smiled at him. “I think it’s a mix of it’s something he doesn’t have and he might like you a bit. You’ve left an impression.” He reached out, his motion slow, and tugged on the hem of Andrew’s black sweater. “The handsome ‘midget goth’ who defies our uncle and kicks ass.”

Andrew told himself that he was unaffected by being called ‘handsome’ by Abram, by the smile; he wasn’t used to being talked about in such a positive way by people, especially by someone like… like _this_. “Don’t be stupid.”

“No, I’m serious! Look at everything you’ve done since you’ve joined up. All that without nearly causing a turf war by hitting on the wrong guy’s wife or handing me over to the enemy all but wrapped up in a bow.” Abram rolled his eyes at the last.

“Don’t think the first scenario is ever going to happen, and for the second….” Andrew allowed himself the tiniest of smirks as he flicked his fingers beneath Abram’s chin. “Maybe I’ll see if I can trade you in on a Koenigsegg or two.”

Things were quiet for about a moment, and then Abram scoffed. “Such an asshole.” Yet there was a hint of a smile on his face just then. “That’s a fucking car, isn’t it?”

“Maybe you’re not as stupid as you look,” Andrew murmured.

“I don’t know, I’m willingly putting up with you, aren’t I? Must have something wrong with me,” Abram said as he met Andrew’s gaze.

“That’s just another thing in your favor.” Andrew once more reached for Abram’s chin, to tilt it up a little more. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Abram agreed, and met his lips for a lingering kiss where Andrew only allowed himself to touch his friend’s jaw; sometimes it was too easy to lose himself in the man, in the treacherous feelings that were awakened when they touched. So he gave himself a minute or two to savor the feel of Abram’s lips on his, the soft moan as his tongue swiped inside, and then pulled away.

Yes, Andrew definitely preferred those blue eyes to the grey contacts. “Tell Ally if I see him anywhere near my car, it won’t just be his liver now, it’ll be his small intestine, too.”

“Don’t worry, I’m telling the bastard that if he doesn’t stop harping about the damn car, I’m finally letting Jamie know that he was the one behind the virus getting on Jason’s system at the Croydon office.” That brought out a hint of Abram’s cruel smile, so Andrew figured there was quite a story behind that.

Leaving the man to it, Andrew went to fetch a mug of coffee then went to read a little in the living room, since it looked as if it would be a quiet day (threats to Ally aside). He got about halfway through his book before his phone rang.

Seeing that it was Stuart’s number, he sighed and answered it. “Yeah?”

“We think we found something,” the man said, for once skipping any ‘friendly’ banter. “I want you down here, now.”

“What about Abram?”

“I’ll send someone around to keep an eye on him, but I want you to help us check this out,” Stuart said. “Get ready.” Then he hung up the phone.

A bit rude, but Andrew supposed that if they finally had a lead on the ‘leak’, that Stuart wanted the matter handled as quickly as possible. So he shoved his phone into his pocket and looked over at Abram, who had paused in whatever he’d been working on, and gave a shrug. “The lord and master commands.”

“So I gathered.” For a couple of seconds, Abram appeared frustrated and then he shrugged as well. “Be careful, okay?” He must have picked up on the fact that if Stuart had called Andrew, that he wasn’t invited out to play.

Andrew just nodded at that before he headed for his room to change; along the way, there was a text from Davis with an address. By the time he’d changed into an ‘appropriate’ outfit (a suit that was probably going to be ruined, but what did he care? He wasn’t paying for them), he came downstairs to find Den there already.

A bit surprised to see the older enforcer instead of Bren, Andrew frowned a little. “Bren busy?”

“I was just telling Abram that he’s stuck in Covent Garden again.” Den shook his head as he held up his hands in a ‘don’t shoot the messenger’ type of gesture. “Bunch of kids causing trouble ‘n that.”

Andrew stared at him for a moment, but there was another text from Davis then, asking if he’d left yet. Texting back that he was about to leave, Andrew glanced at Abram, who gave him a slight nod and then grabbed his coat and keys. “Don’t do anything stupid.”

“I’ll try not to, _hon_ ,” Abram called after him.

At least Andrew only had to go to Stockwell, which wasn’t too far away, though traffic as always was a bitch. Davis had sent him directions to some new construction site, which wasn’t surprising considering the area, though the fact that the site was abandoned at that time of the day was (he didn’t know if it was the Hatfords’ connections or what that had cleared it). He parked the McLaren and got out, only to be greeted by Ollie, who led him through a maze of plywood to what looked to be the first floor of the building.

Stuart, Davis and Jamie were gathered around a body, what looked to be a large man crumpled on the concrete floor. “What, did you start without me?” Andrew called out.

Jamie stood up and gave him a cool look. “Actually, someone had fun without all of us. Any chance you know who this fellow is?” She motioned for Stuart and Davis to stand aside.

“I don’t know if you’re aware of this, but I’m not the friendliest of people,” Andrew remarked as he approached the body. He was going to be upset if it was another ‘surprise’ from his past – both in that the Moriyamas were pulling that old card again, and that he hadn’t gotten to kill another bastard.

At first all he noticed was that yes, the body was male and yes, the man in question was rather large. Or had been large – past tense, right? Considering that the person in question was deceased, at least a few hours? They were wearing a pair of jeans, either worn and old or bought ‘fashionable’ torn, a sweatshirt that looked to have been black but had faded a little from washings, and a black wool coat. Hmm, not a color scheme Andrew could argue with, really, though for some reason it tickled something in his brain. So he took a few steps around the body to get a better look at the man’s face.

“Ah, all right, that does it.” He nodded once. “Atkins, number 17,” he said to the confused Hatfords and Davis. “Former Raven, a pretty decent backliner until he ‘blew out a knee’ during practice one day. Odds are good he did something to piss off Riko, but no witnesses ever came forward so we’ll leave it to bad luck, faulty warm-up or a slip on the court.”

“So there’s a connection between the two you?”

Andrew sighed at Stuart’s sharp question. “Barely. We played two games against each other, and he tried to land a few goals against me, yes. I’m sure there was a good bit of hatred on his part because I was a Fox, and I was _the_ Fox who kept Kevin Day from returning to the Ravens. But for me? He was a nobody, and I didn’t give him a moment’s thought after hearing about his injury. I only knew about that because of Day, to be honest.”

Stuart regarded him for a few seconds before looking over at Jamie. “But there’s a tie to the Moriyamas.”

She nodded at that before looking back at Andrew. “Could they use him?”

“Oh yes,” he agreed. “Just because Riko probably ruined his career doesn’t mean anything, look at Day. Fucking team is brainwashed from the moment they step into the Nest to toe the line, to follow Tetsuji’s every word. They lose the ability to think for themselves,” he said with disgust. “It wouldn’t surprise me in the least if Tetsuji kept him around for something like this, had sent him here to follow me and Abram.” And Andrew wouldn’t have noticed the ex-Raven, not unless Atkins got too close.

Davis huffed in disgust before he pulled out a pack of cigarettes. “You’ve got to be shitting me. The psychotic bastard ruins his career and then his uncle sends him over here to spy on you? God only knows what else?”

“It’s the damn Ravens for you,” Andrew told him. “Can you see why I didn’t want to have anything more to do with Exy?” He didn’t care if he was playing for another team or not, he was done with the sport after university. There was no reason strong enough to keep him playing it, no reason to make him want to keep playing it.

“Well, there’s the money… but eh, we have a hell of a lot more fun,” Davis said with a grin.

“Focus, please,” Jamie chided. “I think I can see it,” she said as she stared down at the body. “He’s not a known formal associate of the Moriyamas or Wesninski, he wouldn’t trigger any alarms.” She glanced up at her uncle. “We’ll have to expand our watch for any of their former players now.”

“What fun.” Stuart shook his head before he turned toward Andrew. “There a lot of them?”

Andrew considered that. “Not sure, to be honest. A few wash up in training, unable to take the abuse. Few more don’t last long in the pros, after what’s done to them, but I don’t think there would be too many. There’s a reason they put up with Tetsuji’s shit, after all.” Tetsuji’s and Riko’s, but at least that prick was out of Edgar Allen now.

“Okay.” Stuart nodded as he pulled out his phone. “Now to figure out who left this little present for us. We’re getting close.”

“Yes, I think we found who was following Andrew and Abram, and he was killed in an attempt to hide the trail,” Jamie agreed. “Maybe knowing who he is will help.”

Wonderful, so glad that he could be of help. Andrew shoved his hands into the pockets of his coat; being in a partially constructed building during late winter wasn’t his favorite thing. “Sounds like you’ve got your day planned out, can I go now? Don’t want Abram and Den to have too much fun without me.”

“Yeah, you can- wait, Den?” Stuart paused in playing with his phone. “What do you mean, Den?”

Andrew frowned at the man. “Den, as in the man you sent to babysit your precious nephew.” Oh, why did he suddenly have a very bad feeling?

Behind Stuart, Davis took to cursing and Jamie pulled out her phone so fast that she ripped the pocket of her coat. “I sent _Bren_ to the house,” Stuart yelled. “What do you mean, Den’s there?”

Andrew didn’t bother with an answer, didn’t waste the time; he spun around and raced back to his car, his feet pounding on the thin plywood floor of the maze as he cursed himself for every type of fool, as he swore that Abram better be all right or… or… the idiot better be all right. He refused to break a promise, after all, so Abram had to be all right.

*******

Abram debated between tea or coffee and went for coffee, needing a little extra something to help him concentrate now that Andrew was out helping Stuart with something. “Do you want some coffee?” he asked Den.

“Ah, yes please.”

“Okay.” He went over to pick up the carafe and began to fill it with water while Den joined him in the kitchen; despite knowing the man for years, Abram had to admit that he felt better with Bren watching him. After all, for so long it had been Bren and Cal – he felt a sharp stab of pain upon thinking of Cal, of how the man had lost his life because of Abram. He missed Cal to this day, even if Abram had taken over some of the enforcer’s duties. Den was quiet and a bit more taciturn, and hadn’t been around so much since Abram now had Andrew to help him with running some errands and watching over him.

“So just how many are there, these kids causing problems in Covent Garden?”

Den came into the kitchen, his hands shoved into the pockets of his coat for some reason, even though the house was warm and he’d been inside for fifteen minutes or so. “Hmm, a couple dozen. Bren’s got his hands full, chasing after them.”

Abram frowned as he filled the coffee machine. “Just Bren?”

“Yeah. It’s why he’s so busy,” Den said as he came over to stand by Abram. As he stood a little too close.

“But I thought he said that Sarah was working with him.” Abram frowned as he went for the tin of ground coffee.

“Eh, she’s out today.” Den grinned as he gave a shrug.

“I see.” Abram took the tin from the cabinet… and then threw it at the enforcer. Andrea, it was Andrea working with Bren to catch the pickpockets, not Sarah.

The tin hit Den in the head and bought Abram time to grab his knives. He hesitated only a second before he lashed out with them, before he slammed them into Den’s throat – unfortunately, it also allowed Den to slam a large fist into the side of his head and knock him into the cabinets with a surprising amount of force. The pain blinded Abram while the blow sent him tumbling to the floor, and for a few seconds he could only stare at the pool of red spreading across the tiles.

Oh, he’d never gotten them glazed, had he?

Then someone was grabbing him, was speaking to him, and two things occurred to him.

They were speaking Romanian.

Den had deactivated the house’s security system.

Then he was being yanked onto his feet even as he fumbled for his knives, his body struggling to move when everything seemed so remote, so off-centered, except that his hands were grabbed and pulled behind his back and bound by something hard and cold. Then Abram knew something was very, very wrong. Knew that things were only going to get that much worse as he was dragged away, fighting every step of it as much as he could.

*******

Andrew let out a curse as Abram’s phone went into voicemail yet again. Fuck. _Fuck_. It wasn’t like he’d expected his friend to answer, but… okay, it would have been nice. More than nice. What the hell was going on?

He’d just managed to pull around a damn truck going below the speed limit (what the fuck was a _lorry_? Why was he thinking of this shit now?) when his phone rang again. Hitting the button on the steering wheel for the call, he snarled out, “who the fuck is this?”

“Uhm, it’s Ally?”

“Why the fuck are you calling?” If the moron was asking to borrow the car yet again, Andrew seriously was going to feed him half of his internal organs.

“Ah, you know I live just a few blocks down, right?”

…  Andrew hadn’t known that. Now it made sense, Abram freaking out about moving into the townhouse at first. “And?”

“Okay! Uhm, so Jamie had me come here to check out things, since…. Den’s dead.” Ally actually sounded a bit upset about that.

“Ask me if I give a fuck.” Actually, Andrew cared a little. It meant he didn’t get to kill the traitor himself. "What about Abram? Where the hell is he?"

"He's not here," Ally said, confirming Andrew's worst fears. "Looks like he put up a bit of a fight, things are knocked over, and I'd say he took out Den. But yeah, he's gone and the security was turned off before I got here."

Fuck. _Fuck_. Den had proven to be an even bigger traitor than they'd thought. Andrew punched the steering wheel while on the other end of the line, there was a voice higher pitched than Ally's, too quiet to make out.

"Uhm, Tori's saying something about the phone - Den's phone. Give me a minute, yeah?"

"Abram doesn't have a minute," Andrew ground out as he gunned it through a changing light.

For once, there was a hint of steel in Ally's voice that made him sound a bit like Jamie. "The phone's not locked, okay? Tori's looking through it, seems like there's something on it, okay? So just fucking cool it."

Andrew bit back on what he was initially going to say and let out a sharp breath. "What makes you think you can trust anything on the damn thing?"

Ally was quiet while there was that voice again - Tori's, Andrew assumed. "Because before those bastards got to him, Den was one of us for over fifteen years. He got my sorry ass out of a lot of scrapes, all right? He was there... he was there when they went to find Abram, back when....” Ally muttered a curse beneath his breath. “So I think there's more going on here, all right?"

"He still set me up," Andrew reminded the man. "And he still betrayed your cousin."

"And for that he's dead."

Not good enough for Andrew, but nothing he could do about it for now. However, he wasn't going to waste any sympathy for the traitor or any breath, especially since Tori's voice rang out clear enough to be understood. "Putney. He saved an address search to a rowing storage house out in Putney."

"So?" Andrew asked.

"It's not one of ours," Ally was quick to explain. "It's out of the way, easy access to the river for transport and that."

Andrew thought about it for a couple of seconds. "Send me it." He left unspoken about how it better not be a trick... but they didn't have any other leads at the moment. Then he hung up and turned around the car, uncaring about the traffic he cut off in the process.

Ally sent the address along with the message that he'd pass it along to Stuart and Jamie, so it would be a race to see who got to the place first. Andrew just about broke every regulation and a good bit of laws to get there as quickly as he could, and had to wonder if Will or Jamie had pulled some strings to keep the McLaren from being stopped by the police.

Soon enough he got a message from Stuart that he and Davis were near the place, and another from Jamie that she'd sent Liz and a few other people, and that they were to wait until everyone was there to move in. It made sense... but Andrew wasn't pleased with the idea of leaving Abram in those bastards' hands for a moment longer than necessary. Not when he thought about what had happened the last time Abram had been taken.

Considering how much Abram complained about the damn car standing out, Andrew parked it back a bit in the parking area when he finally reached the location, since the storage building was tucked away by one of the numerous wharfs lining the Thames. Making sure that he had easy access to his weapons, he got out of the car while texting Stuart, and it only took him a short walk to meet up with the man and Davis; they were standing beside a small repair shop not too far from the storage building. It was a cold weekday, the place was deserted enough that no one else was around.

"Took you long enough," Stuart grumbled as he dropped a cigarette stub into a portable ashtray. Andrew's fingers twitched a little, both from nicotine cravings and the urge to throttle the prick.

"Some of us were backtracking." He knew that Stuart had stayed behind at the construction site and so had a little bit of a head start on him. "How much longer for everyone else?"

Stuart checked his phone. "Only a few more minutes." He shoved his phone into his pocket and then stared at the wooden and metal building in front of them, at the tall man leaning against the side of it smoking as if on break - a man wearing a jacket that bulged a bit around his left side. "Davis, give the midget his gift, eh?"

"Sure thing." Davis smiled as he reached down to pick up something tucked against the building, which turned out to be a Kevlar vest. "It should fit - it's sized for Abram."

Andrew gave him a flat look for that as he accepted the vest, then had to allow Davis to help him into it after he removed his coats; it _mostly_ fit, since Abram had a couple of inches on him and was leaner through the chest. But it would do, especially if Andrew didn't sit down. It would protect everything vital, at the least. Davis nodded in approval and said they'd order one for Andrew after their fun here was done.

It took almost ten more minutes for Liz and the others to show up, ten minutes during which Andrew seriously considered saying 'to hell with this' and going inside by himself, except that he knew how stupid it would be to charge into an unknown situation and get himself shot up for nothing. Except that if Stuart could stand there when Abram was inside.... He wanted a cigarette in the worst way, wanted a glass or two of whiskey. He would have to make do with hurting a bunch of assholes who had thought they could take away a certain idiot.

_Finally_ , Liz was there, dressed in a dark suit and a wool coat that made her look... well, Andrew debated letting her go in first, since it might scare the assholes for a moment or two. Behind her were Marcus, Callie, Thomas and Robbie, after the introductions were done. "We ready to do this?" Liz asked as she leaned around just enough to survey the large building.

Stuart eyed the five of them for a couple of seconds and then nodded in approval. "About damn time." He stepped aside while he motioned off in front of him. "Take care of that, will you?" he told Liz.

She smiled as she reached into her coat for a gun, then into her pocket for a silencer. "My pleasure." It took a few seconds as she figured out the shot, but soon enough, the guard fell to the ground.

That was the signal for all of them to race toward the building; Andrew was alert for any signs of cameras, for any additional security, but it didn't look as if there were any.

However, once Thomas put his strength to use and kicked in the door, things were a different story; there were at least ten men inside of the building which smelled of wood and resin and varnish. They called out to each other in a foreign language as shots were fired, and it sounded like Thomas took a hit but didn't go down.

Andrew darted off to the side with his own gun held in his hands, looking for both Abram and a target, and managed to get one of the assholes before they could fire at Davis. Liz was shooting with a calm smile on her face, her outstretched hands moving in a graceful motion as she kept sweeping through the room, never still for too long, while Davis shoved a cursing Stuart out of the way. Marcus was coolly efficient as well, which wasn't much of a surprise, while Callie and Robbie seemed determined to beat each other to taking out the assholes.

All Andrew wanted was to find Abram; as he ducked around a canoe or whatever the boats were called that was in the process of being repainted, he noticed an office off to the left and someone standing in front of the door to it.

Andrew called out to Liz and, once he had her attention, motioned toward the office. It took her a minute or so to deal with someone hiding behind a column of boats, and then she provided him some cover to go over to the office, taking out the guy when Andrew was only a couple of feet away.

There were two more people in the office; Andrew shot one of them and grunted as he took a hit to the side. It felt as if he'd gotten punched with the end of an iron rod or something, but he forced himself to stumble along, to keep moving.

The other man held his gun to an unconscious Abram's head, his friend slumped in a chair. "Drop it," he said in accented English.

Oh, was that pathetic or what? Did he actually think he could bluff Andrew into thinking that he would harm Abram? Harm the person whom everyone wanted? When they were going through so much trouble to get their hands on him? The Moriyamas wouldn't be happy about that at all, would they? Andrew let his shoulders slump a little, and when the man gave a nervous smile, threw his gun at the asshole’s head. It worked great as a distraction, and when the asshole flinched, Andrew came in fast with his knife.

There was something satisfying in driving it in deep, he had to say. In shoving it in the asshole's throat the same time he pushed him into the wall, in watching him choke on his own blood. Just a little.

That done for the moment, Andrew picked up his gun and went back to make sure the other guy wasn't still breathing, and corrected the situation before he checked on Abram. His friend had to have been dosed with something, body limp with unconsciousness and face bruised; it was clear that he hadn't gone willingly with these people, had done his best to resist, judging from the bruised left eye and swollen lower lip. Worst of all were the handcuffs, which made Andrew curse and look around - he had to search the two bodies to find the keys, and it was then that Stuart came stumbling into the office.

There was blood dripping from his left hand, which he ignored, as he approached Abram. "He all right?"

"Out of it, but seems to be in one piece." Abram's clothes were dirty and disheveled, but Andrew was going to take it as a good sign that his friend was still dressed as he'd last seen him. Was going to hope that he'd been knocked out for being too much trouble, to make it easier to hand him over to the Moriyamas.

Stuart grunted as he leaned over to check out his nephew, wobbling just a little as he patted Abram's face with his right hand; it made Abram's expression shift a tiny amount, which seemed to please the man. "Get him out of here, all right? No telling when they were to hand him over, so best he's gone now, yeah?"

Andrew stilled for a moment, anger flaring at the thought of what would have happened to Abram if they hadn't gotten here in time, at what he wanted to do to whoever would be showing up... and then forced out a slow breath. "Someone going to help me with him?" he asked as he tossed the cuffs aside.

Robbie stepped forward as he shrugged out of his navy blue coat; it looked as if he'd taken a cut to the front of his chest, but the Kevlar vest had kept him from being injured. "Saw your car back there, why don't you get it and bring it closer?" While he talked, he wrapped his coat around Abram. Considering that he had about a foot on the unconscious man and probably another fifty pounds or so, it looked almost like a kid playing dress-up.

Andrew didn't say anything as he made sure his gun was properly tucked away, he just nodded once and hurried out of the building, which was beginning to reek of unpleasant things. Liz was on the phone, as was Marcus, and Callie followed Andrew over to the door where she took watch once he left. Once at the car, he took the time to shed the vest so he could sit down and drive, but that was the only thing he spared any time to do before driving back to the building. Oh was he going to hurt later on, but that was later. He didn't see Thomas until he came back, slumped against the outer wall as if nursing some bruised ribs as well but watching the river as if expecting a boat to appear at any moment.

Abram probably wouldn't be pleased with how easily Robbie slung him over his shoulder and carried him out of the building all wrapped up in the navy coat like a rag doll, with Stuart following around fussing about the large man to be careful. They got Abram into the passenger side of the car and buckled in just as he began to stir a little.

"Get him home," Stuart insisted. "From the little we got out of one of them, someone will be here within half an hour to pick him up."

Andrew nodded as he closed the passenger side door. "You think it'll be anyone high up?"

"Who knows?" Stuart said with a shrug. "But we'll be waiting for them, either way. Get going," he repeated.

Andrew didn't need to be told again. He went around the car and got inside, and drove home as fast as he dared without drawing undo attention. Along the way he fielded a call from Jamie asking about Abram and letting him know that Jason was at the house to take another look at the security system, along with a few other people.

That explained the cars parked on one side of the driveway, leaving him just enough space to pull the McLaren into the garage. Once inside, Nadav was there to hold open the doors while Andrew hauled Abram out of the car and more or less threw him over his shoulder. Not the most dignified way to carry the idiot around, but it got the job done. He was grateful for the lift to the second floor, and dumped Abram onto his bed without much preamble.

That provoked a faint moan from the man, and while Andrew was debating if he should remove the dirty clothes, Annie came into the room - came in and almost got shot.

"Whoa there," she said as she held up her hands. "Jamie sent me over to check out Abram."

"Knock next time," Andrew ordered even as he shifted down on the bed so the doctor could set the large duffel bag slung over her left shoulder down near Abram and examine the idiot. He arched an eyebrow when she started to cut off the clothes, but she stopped at the boxer-briefs and then began to examine Abram for any signs of trauma. Andrew noticed all of the new bruises, the lacerations on his wrists from him fighting the cuts, and the fact that his arm bands were missing.

"Feels like he's got some bruised ribs, and there's a good-sized lump on his head. Possible concussion," Annie proclaimed once she stopped running her fingers through Abram's hair. "I found what looks to be a needle mark, so they shot him up with propofol or a fentanyl derivative, most likely, something to knock him out. That and a concussion isn’t a good mix." She frowned as she reached into her bag for what turned out to be a small tube of something, probably smelling salts. "You want to hold him down?"

Andrew gave her a flat look. "You want me to hold him down, after he got attacked and knocked out? And handcuffed on top of that? I don't think so." No way was Abram going to be happy waking up like that.

Annie had the grace to grimace. "Okay, maybe not a good idea after all. Hmm." She looked around and then grabbed a pillow, which she held in one hand in front of her while she broke the salts with the other then shoved it beneath Abram's nose. As soon as he showed signs of waking up, she dropped the salts on his chest and moved away as fast as she could - and took a glancing hit to the pillow which still knocked her off-balance.

As Abram struggled to breathe, to sit up, Andrew shoved the doctor out of the way and hovered near the bed. "Abram. _Abram_. You're home, it's all right," he said as he stared down at his friend, at the wide, dilated eyes and the clawing hands. He had to repeat it twice until Abram let out a shuddering breath and crumpled forward.

"An-andrew?"

"Yeah." He looked around and snatched up the blanket at the end of the bed, which he draped over Abram's bare shoulders. "You're home."

"But... Carcajou...." Abram's voice was quiet as he rubbed at his wrists, his fingers caked with dried blood. "Den."

"Dead," Andrew told him. "We tracked you down and got you back. Your uncle stuck around to deal with whoever was coming to pick you up."

"Ah." Abram grasped the edges of the blanket and pulled it tight around him. "They...fuck, they said...." He broke into another language, into Romanian, Andrew thought, as he closed his eyes and shook his head.

Annie came over to the bed, which made Abram flinch, his right hand scrambling for blades that weren't there. She eyed him for a moment and then sighed. "I'm going to make some tea, okay? Think you need something warm in you right now, something to help clear your head." As she stepped away from the bed, she shoved at Andrew's left arm, which almost got her stabbed again. "Talk to him," she hissed. "He needs it right now."

What the hell? Andrew narrowed his eyes at her, but she was already halfway out the door. Still, he gave her back a cold look until she was gone, then ran his hands over his hair before he turned around to face Abram.

His friend was once more huddled beneath the blanket and staring off at nothing. Andrew approached as slowly as he could to give Abram some warning, then sat down on the bed near the headboard. "You got Den."

"Oh," Abram said in a quiet voice. "Can't... he really was working with them?"

"Far as we can tell, yes. Don't know why, though," he added, remembering what Ally said.

"Oh," Abram repeated, and then he sighed as he slumped against Andrew, which Andrew allowed after tensing up for a moment. "Does it matter?"

Not to Andrew, not when he saw Abram like this, after he'd seen Abram in that chair, in that building. "No," he said after several seconds.

"Hmm." Abram closed his eyes, his head now resting on Andrew's shoulder. "Thank you."

Andrew wasn't certain if he was being thanked for the rescue or for allowing Abram to use him as a piece of furniture, or both. For once he decided to take the words at face value and just gave in. "You're welcome." Besides, he was feeling a bit tired himself, his side aching from the one shot and all. Maybe Annie could help out with that.

Still, just then it felt nice to sit there, resting against the padded headboard of Abram's bed with Abram a near boneless bundle of blanket and muscle and tousled hair leaning against him. The idiot was safe, so Andrew could breathe easy once more. As easy as his sore ribs allowed, at least.

He hadn’t broken his promise, Abram was safe and he had brought him home. That was what mattered.

*******

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> Hmm, did things get a bit fluffy there? Hard to tell with this fic.... I think Stuart and Andrew had a moment. I know you're all here just for that. (how would you tag for those two? LOL, and no, no 'spiked tea' here).
> 
> As always the kudos and comments are appreciated.


	11. Beautiful Crime

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter! Up a little early for once! This one... hmm. It'll lead to something darker. Be prepared.
> 
> There's slight thoughts to maybe dubious things in here (past partners being more one-sided more than anything)? Slight triggers in the boys but nothing explicit at all.
> 
> Again, much thanks to Huntwodh for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> *******

*******

Abram lay in his bed with the sheets pulled up to his nose and breathed in the scent of fresh linens while his fingers clenched around the soft material; it helped to center him in where he was, to remind him that he was safe. That he was in the townhouse in London. That he wasn’t in the bed in Baltimore with the over-bleached sheets. Or in one of the innumerable safe-houses or cheap hostels or motels or… or any of the places where he’d been when on the run with his mother, where the sheets had been cheap and scratchy and half the time barely washed.

Or back in that room in North Tottenham, on that bed with the musty, filthy mattress-

No, all he had to do was breathe in deep, to touch, and he knew he was ‘home’. To know that he was all right. Even after everything that had happened, with Den and the Carcajou breaking in, Abram remembered waking up to this same bed, to Andrew. Remembered Andrew’s promise that nothing like that would happen again, not while he was around.

So Abram had been able to fall asleep, but the nightmares hadn’t allowed him much rest. He rubbed his fingers along the fine linen for a few more seconds and then forced himself to get out of bed, groaning a little from the intense headache and various other aches as well as a rush of nausea; he remembered being dragged along, remembered being hit and kicked to make him stop struggling. As if he’d just allow himself to be taken after they’d put the handcuffs on him, after one of them had leaned close and joked to another about maybe the Moriyamas wanting some help in breaking him.

He slumped against the wall for a few seconds as he rubbed his hands over his face, as he used the pain to help clear his head, then continued to the bathroom to relieve himself and splash some water on his face. Unwilling to bother with getting dressed, he grabbed his blue robe, an old gift from Stuart, and went downstairs.

Despite however late it must be, there were lights on and he found Andrew in the kitchen. His friend appeared a bit tired with shadows beneath his hazel eyes, busy raiding the cabinets for what turned out to be a packet of biscuits, while the aroma of coffee filled the air. Abram noticed that they now had a large rug on the tiled floor.

Andrew noticed his attention and nodded. “Unglazed tiles. Seems it’ll take a day or two for Stuart to find someone to come and replace them for us. Guess you were right to bitch about them.”

“I guess.” Abram sighed as he more or less collapsed onto one of the stools. “Of all the things to be right about, though.” He toyed with the gauze wrapped around his left wrist for a moment before forcing his hands to rest on the cool counter. “What time is it?” His eyes ached too much to make out the numbers on the microwave.

“Past eleven.” Andrew set the biscuits aside and fetched a mug of coffee that he then gave to Abram. “If you want tea, it’s going to be plain. Annie doesn’t want you drinking, between the concussion and them knocking you out.” He made it sound as if Abram had been condemned to die, just then.

Considering that they had blood stains in their kitchen, someone had tried to kidnap Abram again and his head hurt like hell… abstinence wasn’t exactly a good thing in Abram’s opinion, either. Things could be worse, though. “I hope she said something about paracetamol, yes? Maybe even something stronger?” He gazed hopefully at his friend, while Andrew gave him a blank look back. “Oh, what now?”

“Do you mean _Advil_ or something?” Andrew asked with a mocking edge to his voice as he leaned against the counter with his arms folded across his chest. “Because you’re not going to get it until you speak properly.”

“Oh you fucking prat,” Abram muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair, only to wince when he came across the bumps – a rather large one, probably from him slamming into the cabinet, and a smaller one from Den’s fist. “I don’t… _Tylenol_? Pain pills,” he spat out as he went for his knives. “Oh for fuck’s sake, where are my knives?” He’d forgotten about them being gone, with the headache and everything.

“See, you _can_ speak proper English if given enough incentive,” Andrew taunted as he went over to the end of the counter, while Abram was trying to figure out if he had enough energy to go fetch a blade from the one wooden block about three meters away.

“When are they coming to fix the floor? I have how long to add to the mess?”

Andrew’s full upper lip curled in a slight sneer as he set a bottle with some handwritten script down in front of Abram. “I’d like to see you try.” Then he stepped back and motioned at the bottle, which made Abram sigh as he picked it up and attempted to open it, with his head hurting so much and hands trembling because of his wrists.

“I thought so.” Andrew didn’t have to sound so smug while he took the bottle away, his hands warm and gentle when they brushed against Abram’s. “As for your knives, I told Stuart about them. He’s working on getting you new ones.” All traces of smugness vanished, he sounded normal when he spoke then. “Should be here in another day.”

“Thank you.” Abram closed his eyes for a moment while reaching for the mug of coffee; the warmth helped to steady his hands. He summoned a slight smile when Andrew set a couple of pills down in front of him. “What else have I missed?” Annie had allowed him to stay awake long enough to make sure that he was cognizant, that he could think clearly and knew where he was, before allowing him to rest. That hadn’t granted him much time to be caught up on everything going on.

“A good bit.” Andrew went over to pour himself some coffee while Abram swallowed the pills, mindful about his split lip; was it his imagination, or was his friend favoring his left side? “Jason reworked the security system enough to get us through the night, but he’s coming back tomorrow, just in case there were any surprises left behind. They also found Bren.”

Abram’s breath caught in his throat upon hearing that. “And?” Please don’t let the man be dead; his stomach heaved a little at the news, or at least he thought it was the news about Bren and not from the coffee and the pills.

Andrew finished adding milk to his own coffee and shrugged. “Going to be out for at least couple of days, his head’s in even worse shape than yours. Den didn’t kill him.”

“I’m glad to hear that.” Abram closed his eyes for a few seconds, both in relief and in an effort to quell his rebellious stomach. “I feared the worst, when I figured out that Den was lying about where he was supposed to be.”

“Was that why you killed him?”

He smiled at his friend’s curious tone despite the nausea. “He said that Bren was busy at Covent Garden, but he also said that Bren was working with Sarah. Bren told us he was working with Andrea. That and Den wasn’t acting like himself, he was hovering too close and kept on his coat and shoes.” Abram turned the mug around between his hands. “Must have kept the phone in his pocket so he could turn off the alarm system.”

“You know what they say about hindsight,” Andrew pointed out as he joined Abram at the island. “He was there in Camden, the night with Drake. I don’t know if he was helping to follow us around or if he was there to cover up Drake grabbing me, but I have to wonder how long he was selling us out.” He paused to sip his coffee while Abram shuddered in horror. “Jamie thinks the Moriyamas might have gotten to him through his sister. No one can find the woman to ask her about Den.”

“Bloody hell.” Abram rubbed at his face, uncaring about his black eye. “How many lives are they going to ruin before this ends?”

“Hey.” Andrew reached over to touch his fingertips to the back of Abram’s left hand. “This isn’t about you, not really,” he said, his expression solemn and voice quiet. “They’re like a cancer, they destroy everything they touch and they’re voracious. They’ll always want more, always want something or someone else. Look at how many players went to Edgar Allen, only for Tetsuji and Riko to fuck them up. They think anyone who has any worth, any talent, is valuable and so belongs to _them_. And they’ll break them to pieces to get at every bit of that value.”

"Part of me knows that," Abram argued. "And part of me hates that they're going to keep coming at us until they get me." Then he winced in pain when Andrew flicked at his forehead. "Ow!"

"You think they're going to stop then? They'll just find some other excuse to keep going, until they've gotten everything they think they want out of your organization and everything around it. Stop being such an _idiot_ ," Andrew said with an unusual amount of force. "I'm too tired for this."

To be honest? So was Abram. "At least you can have a drink." Even if his stomach rebelled at the thought of one.

"Right about now, I'm wishing for something a bit stronger than that," Andrew said as he rubbed a hand along his left side.

"I know the feeling." Whatever those pills were that his friend had given him weren't doing much for Abram's various aches and pains, but he supposed he should be grateful for anything.  Then he realized something. "Please tell me they're not going to make us move." Would his uncles insist on them having a new place because of Den?

Andrew gave a soft snort into his mug at that. "Not that I've heard as of yet. Don't think they'd be fixing up the place if they were."

"Oh thank fuck,” Abram breathed out; the place might be huge and rather extravagant, but oddly enough, it had become home.

“No castle just yet,” Andrew teased as he got up to fetch the pot of coffee.

Despite everything, Abram smiled at that. “You’ll just have to make do with this poor place.” He watched as his friend got some more coffee then fumbled off of the stool; despite its padding, it was a little uncomfortable due to his bruises and sore muscles. Besides, he could easily remember standing there just a few hours ago, could remember Den coming up to him… could see the cracked wooden door on the one upper cabinet.

It might be a little uncomfortable, spending time in the kitchen until Uncle Stuart got things repaired.

So he went into the living room instead so he could sit down on the loveseat with his bare feet tucked beneath him. Andrew or someone else had started a fire, and the room was nice and warm. After a minute or two, Andrew came out and joined him.

“You going to be up all night?”

“Hmm, might have wanted to ask that before you gave me the coffee.” Abram closed his eyes as he concentrated on not throwing up. “Just… let me stay up a little longer.” He wanted a bit more time after the nightmare, some more time to center himself, to hopefully stave off another one.

It always was bad after hearing Romanian, but to be captured like that, to have his hands bound… a little more time would be nice. Not sleeping for a week would be perfect, but Abram knew better.

He also knew Andrew, so he was a bit surprised when his friend hovered near the fire for a moment and then sat down on the other end of the loveseat – they both were small enough that they fit onto the piece of furniture with some space between them. Abram stared at his friend as he grabbed the blanket hanging on the back of the loveseat and draped it over both of their laps.

“Uhm… is everything all right?”

Andrew fussed with blanket. “You tend to get into trouble when you’re out of my sight.”

“… so what, you’re going to stay within a meter of me from now on?” All right, now Abram’s headache was getting worse than his stomach.

“Maybe.” Andrew stared off into the fire as he tucked himself into the corner of the loveseat.

“Wonderful.” Abram wondered if he closed his eyes, he could trick himself into thinking he had drank gin instead of coffee. Hmm, nope, not quite. “What about if I promise not to get captured again?”

It was remarkable, how much scorn the man could put into one scoff.

“I believe I’m offended right now,” Abram said as he pulled the blanket up to his chin.

“Like I say – you’re an idiot. You definitely should be offended.” Andrew scoffed again as he gave Abram’s feet a slight kick.

“And you’re definitely an asshole, _hon_.” Abram tugged on the blanket in an attempt to pull all of it over to his side, and managed to get about two-thirds of it before the prat began to fight back. It only took a few seconds before Abram let out a yelp and found himself sprawling forward, onto Andrew.

“Problem there, _babe_?” Andrew drawled as Abram pushed himself up onto his sore arms, only to sigh and give in a moment later; the asshole was on _his_ loveseat, after all. Abram slumped against Andrew’s left side, expecting to be shoved away or for his friend to get up at any moment, and was surprised when Andrew just adjusted the blanket around them both. When he allowed Abram to rest against, much like he’d done earlier in the night.

Abram wasn’t sure what to do just then, if he should say anything or not, but it was oddly comfortable and he was warm, it felt nice to have someone next to him whom he trusted. It was different than his dreams, him being like this, and that was the most important thing. So he was quiet and willing to enjoy the moment as long as Andrew could endure it.

He didn’t know when he fell asleep.

*******

Andrew watched the flames flicker about in the fireplace while Abram slept, his body a solid presence against Andrew’s aching left side; he couldn’t tell if the warmth helped or hurt those ribs, which was annoying. Probably didn’t help at all, but somehow… somehow it felt good.

Maybe there was something in those pills Annie had left after all.

He was tired since it had been a hell of a long day, and a stressful one at that, and he really should get some sleep. But it was nice to enjoy the quiet house after everything, to know that Abram was safe and that Andrew had kept his word.

Tomorrow would have Jason and others back in their home, would be more noise and confusion and Stuart squawking over his precious ‘Ram’. Andrew had barely talked to the man after leaving Putney, only to have Stuart confirm that they’d grabbed one of the Moriyama’s people who’d come to pick up Abram, and for Andrew to pass on that he hadn’t found Abram’s knives anywhere and figured that a certain idiot might not be happy about that.

He knew how unhappy he’d be, to lose his knives. It wasn’t that Renee had given them to him years ago, but that they’d become a part of him, were there for a reason. Were there to ensure that no one would ever hurt him again (and how nice it had been, to finally use them on Drake). Would never hurt anyone he’d decided to protect, would never hurt what was his.

But he couldn’t protect what was his if he couldn’t keep it near him, could he? Small flaw in the plan there, one he’d do a better job of addressing in the future.

Done with his coffee, he let the empty mug drop to the carpeted floor (they were already cleaning up a bunch of shit soon, who cared if they cleaned up a little more?), slipped his arms beneath the blankets and wished he’d thought to grab a book when he’d come over to the loveseat instead of his chair. He resumed watching the fire… and ended up falling asleep.

It must have been a painful twinge of his ribs that woke him up a few hours later, from him trying to move about or something, and being tangled up in the blanket kept him from lashing out long enough for him to realize where he was, that the weight against him was Abram and everything was all right. He stilled as he took a few (aching) deep breaths, as the idiot mumbled something and curled up even more against Andrew. For one insane moment, Andrew found himself about to close his eyes and just go back to sleep, to ignore the soft brush of hair against the left side of his jaw and –

He slipped out as slowly as he could beneath Abram, eventually settling his friend down into the corner of the small couch, and was a bit surprised that Abram remained asleep. Still, better he get some rest while he could and heal up from what Den and those Romanian assholes had done to him.

Andrew only picked up the empty mug after he almost stepped on it, and went into the kitchen to find that it was almost seven in the morning. Not too bad a night’s sleep, so he got a pot of coffee brewing and picked up his phone to text Bren to – _dammit._ Yet another reason to hate the Moriyamas and their lackeys, since from what Jason had told him, it would take a few days at the least before Bren would be in any condition to resume working.

Who the hell was going to fetch Andrew some food? He sure as hell wasn’t going to run out on his own, somehow he was willing to bet that Stuart would bitch to high heaven if he dragged Abram out on a donut run, and there was no fucking way he was going to cook.

Hmmm.

Abram could always take a nap later, Andrew was hungry.

Andrew ‘accidentally’ dropped the dirty mug into the sink, and as the loud clatter died down, he heard a mix of cursing from the living room. When he looked over in that direction, it was to see a rather dazed Abram sitting up on the loveseat, tousled hair half in his face and hands scrambling up the full sleeves of his robe.

“Oh, you’re awake.”

His friend’s response was something inarticulate, right before Abram rubbed at his bruised face then made a whining sound. A few seconds later, Abram sighed and then stood up, wavering a little before he managed a more or less steady walk toward the kitchen.

“Coffee?” he asked in a rather plaintive voice.

“After you make breakfast,” Andrew told him as he pointed to the stove. The look he received in return was one of extreme loathing, but all Andrew did was move to block the coffee machine so eventually he won that battle of wills.

“Hate you,” Abram mumbled as he staggered over to the fridge.

“Adore you too, _babe_.” Deciding that the coffee had brewed enough and to hell with the weak shit dripping down just then, Andrew grabbed the pot and put the other dirty mug beneath the pale brown drops so he could finally pour himself some much-needed caffeine. Since Abram was making eggs for them, Andrew was kind enough to pour a mug for the idiot, too.

Soon enough, they were sitting down to eggs and toast, Andrew busy sprinkling hot sauce over his while Abram poked at his breakfast. “Eat it,” Andrew ordered. “I refuse to listen to your uncle bitch about your lack of survival instincts today.”

That earned him a rude gesture, but Abram finally stopped playing with his food and had a couple of bites, although he grimaced the entire time. “Fuck, I wonder if they shot me up with propofol. Stomach feels horrid.”

All right, that deserved a comment. "You get shot up with the stuff often enough to know that fact?"

"Once before, and it wasn't pleasant when I woke up. Sorta feels like now." Abram grimaced again as he pushed the plate of food aside. "I'll stick to coffee for a few more hours, thanks."

That might explain why Annie had only given him some weak tea last night after she'd woken him up; Andrew pulled the plate of eggs and toast toward him since _he_ was still hungry, which earned him a tired sigh. "No reason for it to go to waste."

"Sure." Abram propped up his chin on his right hand, the bandage around his wrist noticeable with the way the sleeve of his pale blue robe fell down his arm. "So glad my misery works out for you, _hon_."

Andrew was about to smack the idiot down for that bit of wallowing, except when he looked up from his breakfast, he caught a hint of a smile on Abram's face. "Yes, it's rather nice. Let's see how long this can last, I'm enjoying the break from morning runs."

"Go to hell," he was told in a cheerful tone.

"Hmm, feel up to some ice cream? Isn't that supposed to help settle stomachs? I've got some dark chocolate caramel fudge in there."

Now Abram appeared a bit green. "Oh, I think I need to lie down." He almost fell out of the stool in his haste to return to the loveseat, where he curled up to fit onto the piece of furniture, huddled beneath the thick chenille blanket.

Andrew ate his breakfast in peace then enjoyed a cigarette, and set some water to boil while he changed into work-out clothes. When he came back down, he brewed a pot of tea which he took over to Abram, who was still awake, then went to lift some weights for over an hour.

When he was done, Abram was once more asleep, so he left him alone while he washed up, and not long after Andrew was back downstairs and looking for a snack, Stuart appeared with Davis and Jason in tow.

Abram, who had been asleep up until then, sat up with a jolt when he heard the loud chirp of the alarm being disengaged long enough for the three men to enter. Once more going for his blades, he palmed along his bandaged forearms for a moment while Andrew came to stand beside him; it only took a few seconds for Stuart to figure out that they weren't in the kitchen and came over.

The older Hatford appeared worn-out, with dark circles beneath his eyes and his suit rumpled, his left hand bandaged. Behind him, Davis was sporting a stitched-up cut along his right cheek and a bruised cheekbone, and Jason was carrying a toolbox in one hand and a very large coffee in another.

"Why are you sleeping there?" Stuart asked his nephew as he approached, but was mindful not to come too close. "If you're not feeling well, stay upstairs."

"I don't... don't want to," Abram said with a hint of annoyance. "What's going on?" He frowned as he pushed away the blanket and stood up, pausing only to gather up the teapot and mug before heading into the kitchen; Andrew noticed that he was steadier on his feet this time. "How's Bren?"

Stuart grunted at that and grabbed the dishes from Abram's hands, which earned him a virulent look. "Has one hell of a headache and an even nastier temper. He thinks Den got off too easy, all in all."

Abram stood near the island and stared down at the rug on the floor - the rug that covered where Den's blood had soaked into the tiles. "Maybe," he said in a quiet voice before he sat down. "What about his sister? Den's, I mean."

"Still can't find her." Stuart's expression turned grim as he began to prepare another pot of tea, while Jason went off to play with more electronics or something. Andrew spared the man a look before deciding to grab a pint of ice cream, well aware that there wasn't much he could do if Jason was going to fuck up the alarm system since he didn’t know electronics very well. What he _did_ know was that Jamie trusted the man and she seemed to care for her ‘little cousin’ very much.

“We’re thinking at this point, the Moriyamas or some of their people took her and were holding her to force Den to cooperate,” Stuart continued. “Since he failed, she’s probably dead.”

“That’s… shit,” Abram said as he ran a trembling hand through his hair.

“Yeah, so from now on, no one comes into this house who isn’t vetted, unless we know they don’t have someone who can be used against them, who isn’t already under the family’s protection,” Stuart told them. He gave his nephew a stern look before turning to Andrew. “We’ve upped the protection around the Kloses, and I know you said the Moriyamas shouldn’t go after him, but we worked out something with some colleagues in the U.S. so your brother has some people watching him now.”

Andrew felt relief upon hearing that Nicky should be all right, which was tempered at mention of Aaron; things, as always, were mixed when he thought about his twin. At how here he was in some way still looking after Aaron when the bastard was going on with his life, when Aaron had no clue at the efforts others made to ensure that he was safe. Just so Aaron could have his ‘normal’ life. “I thought the U.S. was a problem for you.”

Stuart shrugged at that. “We’re always looking for new opportunities. This was more like reaching out to some old ‘friends’ and working out something that’ll benefit us both.”

Yes, but did Andrew owe them for it? Before he could push further, Abram nodded at his uncle. “Thank you.”

That made Stuart smile. “You’re welcome, Ram. We’re just taking care of some loose ends, all right? Give us another day to fix up the place and things will be back to normal.” As he spoke, he began to pour two mugs of tea.

“What about the Moriyamas? Who did you grab?” Andrew asked since the matter about his brother seemed resolved for the moment.

Davis shook his head while he finished fixing his coffee. “They didn’t send anyone important, not this time. Jamie thinks they didn’t want to risk setting off any alarms since they know we’re watching their top people – theirs and Wesninski’s. All we got was some stiff in a suit who damn near shit himself when he realized that he wouldn’t be taking Abram back with him, all wrapped up like a present.

“Seemed more afraid of that than the fact that Jamie was ready to send _him_ back in pieces,” Stuart added as he handed Abram a mug of tea.

Andrew thought about that as he grabbed the whiskey to add to his coffee, and narrowed his eyes at Abram’s longing gaze. “Probably has good reason for it – we all know very well that the Moriyamas accept people in return to pay off debts. Day told me that he knew about a couple of siblings handed over to Tetsuji, or one kid to ‘the Master’ and one to Kengo. Guy might have been worried about what happened if he didn’t come back with Abram.” That might have been behind the incentive for the Moriyamas to use Den’s sister against the man.

Might even be part of the inspiration behind the whole fucked up Ravens’ ‘pairing’ mentality. The easiest way to break a person was by going after what they held the most dear, after all.  By going after that which held the strongest ties, because the thought of breaking those ties? Of having someone cut through them?

It was fucked up, and just one more reason for Andrew to want to see the Moriyamas’ empire tumble to the ground. For him to help give the push that sent it crashing down.

Meanwhile, Abram clutched at his forearms as if desperate for his missing blades. “What the hell? How can they – it’s just – I thought my father was bad enough.”

“Oh he is,” Stuart said, his voice thick with loathing. “He agreed to hand you over to those pricks, after all.”

Andrew was going to say that Stuart had a wee bit of abhorrence for his ex-brother-in-law.

“Yes, how could I forget that?” Abram let go of his arms to pick up the mug of tea while Stuart flinched and had the grace to appear guilty. “So to sum it up, the Moriyamas used Den’s sister against him, we’re only to deal with certain people for now on because of it, and new precautions are being taken since the Moriyamas are utter fucks.”

“Always thought you were a bright one,” Davis said with a grin, as if attempting to lighten the mood.

“I think the ‘utter fucks’ thing would be obvious to a blithering idiot by now, but thank you.” Abram inclined his head, which caused his hair to fall into his eyes; if anyone had noticed that he still hadn’t put in his grey contacts yet, they weren’t commenting on it.

Andrew glanced at Davis while he finished off the ice cream. “I want a list of those ‘certain people’.” He’d made a point of learning as much of the Hatford organization as he could over the last few months, but it had been along the way of faces and names and who reported to whom and where, not personal shit. He hadn’t known that Den had a sister, and wouldn’t know who was ‘suitable’ by way of being open to Moriyama blackmail – did that mean Liz since she had Liliya, or was that relationship fine since Liliya worked for the Hatfords as well?

Somehow, Andrew didn’t think someone who had survived the Carcajou would be easy prey for the Moriyamas, nor that Liz allowed her girlfriend to wander around without some sort of protection.

Davis pulled out his phone and began typing on it. “Right, you’ll have it soon enough. Any other requests?”

“Yeah, who the hell is our new errand boy? Or girl, I don’t give a shit, I just know I’m not trusting ‘darling Ram’ over there to cook dinner for me,” Andrew said as he threw away the empty pint.

“Love you too, _hon_ ,” Abram muttered into his mug of tea, while Stuart nearly dropped his in shock.

“I’m not with you for your culinary skills, _babe_ ,” Andrew shot back.

“Fuck me, can you do that again?” Davis asked as he held up his phone. “Jamie will give me a raise if I send it to her.”

“ _No!_ ” Stuart shouted as he sent his underling a murderous look. “And why the fuck can’t you cook, eh?” he asked Andrew.

“I’m a babysitter, not a cook or a maid,” he reminded the man.

“Why couldn’t Den have slammed my head a bit harder?” Abram asked no one in particular. “A coma right now would be absolutely lovely.”

“Drama queen,” Andrew sneered, which made his friend sigh and mutter something too quiet to be understood.

Meanwhile, Stuart stomped over to the one cabinet to grab the bottle of gin, which made Abram perk up – at least until Andrew shook his head. Ah-ah, someone wasn’t allowed the good stuff for at least twenty-four hours, and not even Abram pouting with that beaten up face and those blue eyes was going to make Andrew change his mind.

“I’ll send Nadav, all right?” Stuart snapped. “And only because I refuse to let Abram starve himself, couldn’t care less about a damn uppity midget like you.” He filled the small tumbler almost to the rim with gin while he scowled at Andrew.

Andrew just shrugged off the insult. “Make sure Nadav knows about your precious nephew’s garlic intolerance.”

That made Abram sit up and join in on the scowling. “Oh fuck off you… you….” Cue the long string of insults in various languages while Andrew sipped his coffee.

_That_ Davis did record, while Stuart sighed and poured himself another very full glass of gin. “So things are going good, eh?” Davis asked Andrew while grinning. When Andrew gave him a bland look in return, his grin grew even wider. “Jamie will be pleased to know that.”

Stuart slammed the glass down on the counter. “Enough of this shite.” He went over to Abram, who had finally run out of steam and settled for glaring at everyone. “Get some rest, okay? Liz will be by later with your new knives, and someone will fix the kitchen tomorrow.” When Abram’s expression smoothed out, probably because of the knives, he risked giving the idiot a gentle and quick hug.

“Thank you,” Abram said as he gave Stuart a tentative hug back. “I… thank you.”

That made Stuart smile again. “I know, kiddo.” Then he held up his left hand in the air to give Andrew an obscene gesture before he headed for the door.

Davis was still grinning as he put his phone away. “You’re really growing on him, it’s obvious,” he told Andrew before he followed his boss.

“What joy.” Andrew was perfectly fine with him _not_ ‘growing on’ Stuart. “Do you really need two uncles?” he asked his friend while he went to add whiskey to his remaining coffee.

“I believe there might be a few family members who’ll complain if Stuart suddenly disappears. Sorry,” Abram said, sounding anything but as he got up for more tea. “On the plus side, we won’t need to worry about the tiles for much longer.” His smile wasn’t quite convincing just then, and Andrew noticed how he avoided the new rug.

He gave the idiot some time to pour the tea before he spoke. “You know you did what you had to do.” He didn’t make that a question.

Abram stood still for a few seconds before he let out a slow breath. “Yes, I do. Even if my uncles and Jamie had known about Den’s sister and taken him alive, they’d just done what they could to free her and still made an example of him. It can’t get out, that the Hatfords allowed one of their own to betray them.” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “To betray us. I’d feel the same way if he’d done that to one of the others. Doesn’t mean I don’t feel a bit sorry for the bastard, what with the way the Moriyamas had him between a rock and a hard place.”

As long as the idiot didn’t let that guilt eat him up inside. Andrew had to wonder if Den hadn’t known what he was walking into, coming into the townhouse to betray Abram. To betray Nathan Wesninski’s son, the young man raised around knives and tempered by so very much, the young man whom much of the underworld treated with a wary respect since he’d put those knives to bloody use. If that wasn’t why he’d left his phone unlocked and the one address available, as a way to assuage his own guilt.

All Andrew did, though, was pick up his mug of spiked coffee. “Are you going to dwell on this forever? You can be depressing enough as is.” Then he leaned in close to the idiot. “Plus, you smell. Go bathe or something.” As he pulled away, he had to hold his coffee up out of Abram’s reach.

“Fuck, but why couldn’t Annie leave some good drugs?”

“Again, drama queen. Try not to drown and create more work for me.”

“God forbid you exert yourself today,” Abram muttered as he ignored his mug of tea and shuffled away; a hot bath should help with his bruised ribs and everything. Actually, a bath wasn’t a bad idea, considering that Andrew’s side still ached from the gunshot yesterday. The Kevlar vest had kept him from being badly injured, but he had some spectacular bruises from the bullet’s impact.

Once Abram had gone upstairs, Andrew went to track down Jason and found him in the garage. “How long are you going to be?” he asked the man.

Jason gave a one-shouldered shrug as he continued to twist some wires. “Probably a couple more hours? I’m setting it up so you’ll both be alerted if anyone other than you or Abram touches the system, as well as Jamie and Stuart. Throwing in a few other nasty surprises, but the less anyone knows, the better.”

The less anyone could tell the Moriyamas or Wesninski’s people about it, in other words. Made Jason a bit of a target, but there was something about the flat look in his eyes, about the way he moved, that made Andrew think that the young man wasn’t anyone to take lightly. There had to be a reason Jamie relied on him so much, and not just because he seemed to know his shit when it came to computers and electronics.

After Andrew checked that the place was still locked down and that Abram was in his bedroom, he went into his own for a soak in the nice, large tub separate from the shower in his bathroom (it still took some getting used to, the extravagance of the place. That everything here was his, that he didn’t have to share, that someone felt he was worth this. That last part especially). The water as hot as he could bear it, he sunk down until it lapped at his mouth and fought not to fall asleep, the heat soaking into his sore muscles until he let out a small moan of pleasure.  How he would have gladly maimed for something like this, back at Palmetto State, back when he’d been sore every week from Exy practices and games.

Better late than never, he supposed.

For a moment his right hand stroked along his lower belly, fingertips brushed along the thin trail of coarse hair and then skimmed lower, toward his flaccid cock. A rush of expelled air from his lungs disturbed the water as he let his hand fall to the bottom of the tub before it floated back up; if he jerked off then he definitely would fall asleep afterwards, with how tired and relaxed he was now.

Besides, the urge wasn’t that strong just then, not really. Not when he had Abram now. Not when he could still easily recall the feel of Abram’s body against his own, the feel of their hips grinding together, the taste of Abram’s skin beneath his tongue. As much as it had been pushing things to stay there that time, to allow himself to let go, Andrew couldn’t help but plan what to do the _next_ time.

He wanted more. He wanted Abram naked, wanted to see that body before him, maybe beneath him, wanted to see those lean muscles and elegant bones, those long limbs tremble because of him. The only thing he had yet to decide was if he was going to make Abram come with his hand or his mouth – both held certain appeals to him. He knew there was a need in him to be in control during times like, well, he needed to be in control. Of both himself and his partner. This time, however, he also wanted Abram to feel good. He was beginning to wonder if Jain had ever cared about if Abram had felt good, based on his friend’s fumbling kisses and other reactions.

Any desire he had been feeling up to that point died an instant death.

There had been no word about Jain in the last couple of weeks, and Abram certainly wasn’t mentioning the Chinese man. Andrew knew better than to believe that the matter was resolved, that Abram was done with him. Oh no, the martyr complex was strong in that idiot.

Andrew remained in the tub for another ten minutes or so, then got out and dried off, but still didn’t bother to shave. Once he was dressed in a comfortable outfit, he checked on his idiot (asleep in bed, which explained why he didn’t get anything thrown at him for opening the bedroom door) then went downstairs, where he sat down in his chair with a book and more coffee while Jason finished tweaking the security system.

After about an hour, there was a text on Andrew’s phone from an unfamiliar number that turned out to be from Nadav; the man was asking him about anything that he or Abram needed to be dropped off that evening.

Andrew gave him a bit of a shopping list and a take-out order, which left him feeling a bit smug, especially when a bleary-eyed Abram came downstairs a little while later. His friend stared at the kitchen for a minute or two before coming over to Andrew. “Where’s my laptop? Did that get taken, too?”

“No – at least, not by the assholes. Jason has it.”

“I see.” Abram stood there for a few seconds, hair pulled back from his bruised face and dressed in a sweater that looked as if it could fit Bren, it was so large, its sleeves falling past the idiot’s hands, before he nodded once and left – Andrew assumed in search of Jason.

He returned in about five minutes with a disgruntled expression on his face and all but fell down onto the loveseat, which made the idiot wince in pain and curse.

“Problems?”

“I don’t want a new fucking laptop,” Abram complained. “I want my old one – I highly doubt they had the time to put spyware and a bunch of shit on it while dragging me out of here!”

“My heart, it bleeds,” Andrew said while he ‘flipped’ to a new page. Wait until the idiot realized his phone was gone, too.

“If I had my knives, it would,” Abram muttered, his voice low and vicious.

“Someone’s a bit pissy after their nap, aren’t they?” Andrew hummed a little and batted aside the pillow thrown his way without lowering his e-reader.

“Tends to happen when I wake up and am reminded of the fact that I’m living with a prat.” Abram closed his eyes as he hugged a throw pillow to his chest. “This time last year I had a nice apartment all to myself.”

“And there you go, you just extended the time of no morning runs for another week.” Andrew ‘flipped’ to another page. “I’ve decided that each time you say something exceedingly stupid, another week gets added on.”

Abram sputtered as he sat up and opened his eyes. “How is that ‘exceedingly stupid’?”

“What did I say about living in the past, hmm?” Andrew lowered the e-reader to give the idiot a narrowed look. “Any past.”

Abram narrowed his eyes as well. “I’m beginning to think you’re secretly working for the Moriyamas from the start. This is all one great big plan to drive me insane, right? Push me over the edge and then I’ll just give up one day?”

“Not bad,” Andrew said when he considered everything. “But no. I’d have just knocked your whiny ass out by now and handed you over if I was one of theirs. _Babe_.”

“Asshole.”

“Idiot,” Andrew shot back, growing annoyed that the verbal sparring was interrupting his attempt to read the book, to be honest. So he didn’t pay too much attention when Abram got up from the small couch and came over to the chair, his expression stormy and a pillow held in his hands.

“So damn annoying, not to have any knives,” Abram complained, right before he swatted the pillow at Andrew’s head. Before he _hit_ Andrew with a damn _pillow_.

All right, maybe the Carcajou had broken the idiot yesterday before Andrew had gotten there to save him. It was the only logical explanation.

The damn pillow being pulled back to hit him again, Andrew caught it on the downswing and yanked on it, intending to pull it free. However, Abram was holding on to it with a surprising amount of strength, which resulted in Abram being yanked along with it – right onto Andrew.

They both cursed as a result, in surprise and pain as Abram’s long limbs landed on sensitive areas and sore ribs were aggravated, but eventually Andrew got the idiot more or less on his lap, long legs on either side of his thighs and his left hand fisted in the front of that overlarge sweater while he held up the pillow in a threatening manner. “What the _fuck_ did you think you were doing?”

“Well, I couldn’t stab you, and throttling you seemed like too much effort,” Abram admitted with a bit of heat, his cheeks flushed and eyes bright with anger. “The pillow was just… there?”

A fucking idiot, Andrew swore. Yet a fucking idiot he trusted, one he allowed this close to him, an idiot whose presence didn’t trigger any bad memories or negative emotions by sitting there like that. It helped that he could shove the skinny bastard off of his lap without any real effort, though what he did instead was tighten his hold on the soft sweater and pull Abram in closer.

“Yes?”

Abram’s breath hitched and the pink on his cheeks flushed darker. “Yes,” he said before he closed his eyes, before Andrew bridged the distance between them for a kiss. His hands fisted in the bottom of the sweater, and Andrew left them there as his left settled on the back of Abram’s neck, mindful of the blows the idiot had taken to his head the day before.

It was a bit odd, kissing like that, with someone on top of him. On one hand, Andrew felt a bit defensive, felt a little boxed in – but on the other, he felt the way Abram’s body relaxed, the way that body was right there for him to him to touch, to pull closer or push away. His left hand dropped down so he could slip it beneath the large sweater, could stroke it along Abram’s back, and his lips curled when a needy whine broke free from his friend at the first caress.

“Don’t touch,” he warned as he broke off the kiss, even as he kept his own touch light, as he made sure that everything was all right with Abram. “Want me to stop?”

“No, dammit.” Abram’s voice was rough and his fingers twisted in the sweater. “Just… seems unfair.”

Andrew almost made his familiar retort about what in life was ever fair, but he much preferred dragging his fingers down Abram’s back just then to provoke another of those wonderful needy moans the same time his mouth sought out warm skin; he could _feel_ the moan, the vibrations it made before it slipped free.

“Damn you,” Abram complained. “Fun… fun doing this… to you.”

Yes, someone had figured out about one of Andrew’s own weak spots, which was half the enjoyment of denying Abram’s access to it. And if Andrew was honest with himself? He derived a bit of satisfaction in wringing those moans from his friend and seeing the marks he left behind, in annoying Stuart with them and letting everyone else know to keep their hands to themselves.

“Too bad,” he murmured as he shifted his lips further up Abram’s neck, up to a spot he knew from experience would make the man shiver in response, while he let go of the sweater with his right hand so he could slide it beneath as well.

“Fuck.” Abram sound breathless just then, and his hips rocked forward as Andrew palmed his shoulder blades, the bones sharp beneath warm skin. “ _Fuck_.”

For something that had started on an impulse, Andrew had to agree. He thrust up as he skimmed his teeth along Abram’s neck, his cock hardening as the thoughts from the bath earlier returned to him, at the thought of laying Abram down on the carpet in front of the fire without any clothes on and sucking him off until he begged Andrew for release. _Fuck_ yes.

He’d just dragged his fingertips down Abram’s back again, mindful not to use his nails, which caused Abram to moan low and deep, when there was a loud coughing sound not too far away. In an instant Andrew was on his feet while holding onto Abram’s right forearm with his left hand, a knife in his right as he stared at a very embarrassed Jason and did his best to shove a cursing idiot behind him.

“Uhm, yeah, sorry?” Jason said as he gave them a nervous smile. “I’m, ah, all done.”

“Bloody hell,” Abram muttered as he tugged on the arm Andrew was holding.

“Yeah,” Jason agreed, his face still a bright red.

Andrew sighed as he lowered the knife. “What do you want?” Couldn’t he have just left?

“I, ah, have to show you something on your phone,” Jason said. “I’ll be back with Abram’s new one tomorrow.” Improbable as it seemed, his face flushed even brighter. “Uhm, I’ll call first! Yeah, I’ll call first. Oh god.” He scrubbed at his face.

It wasn’t like they’d been doing anything _that_ graphic, Andrew thought with some annoyance. “What, haven’t you ever seen two people make out before?”

“Not going there,” Jason said as he spun around and headed for the kitchen. “Your phone!”

Meanwhile, Abram finally got his arm free and was wearing that creepy smile of his. “I’m going to go run.”

“The hell you’re not,” Andrew told the idiot.

“On the damn treadmill,” Abram said as he headed upstairs, probably to go change.

If the idiot wanted to run in place with a bunch of sore ribs, let him, Andrew decided, while he went to the kitchen to see what a prudish Jason had to show him about the new security system.

*******

Abram cursed as he had to tweak a few more settings on his new laptop; no matter what Jason said, it just _wasn’t_ the same as his old one. He’d spent the past day adjusting too many things, updating stuff and downloading and installing and… he just wanted to get back to work. The kitchen was finally fixed (new, _glazed_ tiles, in blue and cream this time, a couple of new cabinet doors), Nadav had fallen for Andrew’s garlic bread shit (Abram knew that the asshole was doing it just to piss him off, and so struggled not to react. Too much), but was otherwise proving a decent temporary replacement for Bren (hopefully back in a few more days).

Things were almost back to normal, so he just wanted to resume working. To busy himself with translating and everything else. Odds were good that Jamie and Stuart weren’t going to let him travel anywhere for the next couple of weeks, not until they were certain that there weren’t any other traitors lurking within the family, that they had an idea about any Moriyama agents within the area. He wished them good luck with that; the Hatfords might be entrenched in the UK and Europe, but the Moriyamas were good at getting what they wanted, at breaking people. It would be his family’s network against the people the Moriyamas drove to desperate actions, more than likely.

Tired of dealing with the laptop, Abram got up from the island (he really should look into using the office one day and give his back a break) and thought maybe a snack might be a good idea. He put on some hot water for tea, and looked in the cabinet for something to eat. Of course there were packets upon packets of biscuits, of stuff too sweet for him even to consider, all for Andrew. For a moment Abram remembered the days of finding things like crackers and protein bars. What the hell had happened?

“Take my cookies and I’ll break your fingers.”

Again, what the hell had happened? Abram sighed as he gave up on the search for a decent snack and figured he’d make do with toast. “Tell me the truth, you’re half Brownie or something, aren’t you?” he asked as he turned around.

Andrew stared at him in confusion. “What the hell does some wannabe girl scout organization have to do with me?”

“Wait, no, they prefer cream, not biscuits, my bad,” Abram said as he went to grab the bread. There was the whole cleaning thing, too. To give him some credit, he’d only had the book on British folklore for about a week or two before his father had found out that he’d somehow received a gift from his Aunt Miriam, and then the book had vanished and – well, he didn’t want to think about it anymore.

“I know you haven’t been skipping meals again, so something else is behind this latest bout of raving.” Andrew came over to sniff inside the teapot. “Been ‘nipping at the gin’ a bit too much?”

“I could only wish,” Abram admitted. “Sadly, it’s natural.”

“Ah, idiocy at its finest, in other words.” Andrew nodded as if everything made sense all of a sudden.

Abram sighed as he put the bread in the toaster, then went over to pour the now boiling water into the teapot. “Perhaps I should do some ‘nipping’, it would help improve the situation greatly.”

Andrew was quiet until he was finished with the hot water. “And what ‘situation’ would that be?”

“I don’t know, the one where I’m living with a sugar-addicted glutton who also happens to be an asshole, perhaps?”

“Is that so?” Before Abram could pour himself some tea, Andrew was there to take the pot from his hands and set it aside, then pulled him away from the counter. “Come here.”

“All right.” A bit suspicious, Abram none the less allowed himself to be led into the living room, near the glass and marble fireplace. “What now?”

“Yes or no?”

Now he was surprised to be asked that question, especially after bitching to Andrew. Abram frowned at his friend, who stood in front of him with a hint of exasperation on his handsome face, as if impatient for the answer. “Ah, yes?”

That earned him a frown. “Yes or no?” There was a bit of a bite to the question as Andrew made it clear that he wouldn’t accept anything but a definitive answer.

“Yes,” Abram repeated in a much clearer manner that time.

“All right. Remember you can say ‘no’ at any time,” Andrew told him, and as soon as Abram nodded, reached for the back of his neck to pull him in for a kiss.

Andrew tasted of something sweet with a bite of nicotine, an odd mix that made Abram hum a little at first. The kiss started out lazy, as an explorative stroke of tongues and press of lips, and then Andrew pulled away. “Take off your sweater,” he told Abram.

That was new. Abram hesitated for a moment, but his curiosity and desire won out over any apprehension he might have in the end; he pulled the garment over his head then threw it aside while watching Andrew. His friend stared at him for a couple of seconds afterwards and made an abortive motion with his right hand, before he surprised Abram by removing his black sweatshirt as well.

Abram’s fingers twitched to touch the sculpted chest revealed in front of him, to touch the smooth skin, the broad shoulders and muscular arms. Andrew must have seen that because his shook his head. “Don’t touch for now.”

“Dammit, you don’t make this easy,” Abram complained.

“You can always say ‘no’,” Andrew pointed out, and when Abram just scoffed, stepped forward to once again gently grasp the back of Abram’s neck. “Then get down on your knees.”

When Abram went still at those words, Andrew shook his head. “Shit. I meant… come on.” He started to bend his legs in a clear sign that he was planning on kneeling down as well, which broke Abram from his paralysis. After just a moment’s hesitation, Abram also began to kneel – when he felt Andrew’s fingers start to slip from the back of his neck. Soon enough, they were both kneeling in the plush carpet near the fire while facing each other.

The apprehension was back, but Abram had his new knives strapped to his arms, and it was Andrew in front of him, was Andrew and he knew he could stop this at any time, could get up and walk away. Knew that Andrew would never make him do anything he didn’t want, would never push too far. He also knew by now that Andrew would make him feel good… and that he wanted Andrew. Even if he still didn’t quite grasp that last part, he knew he wanted Andrew. So he took a deep breath and nodded at his friend to show that he was all right.

That seemed to be a signal to Andrew as he once more pulled Abram in for a kiss, the fingers of his right hand sliding into Abram’s hair while his left hand stroked gently along the side of Abram’s neck. The soft caress made Abram shiver, and soon enough he moaned in delight of the kiss, of the feel of fingers combing through his hair and teasing along his neck.

Andrew shifted closer and began to touch him elsewhere, along his chest and abdomen, the touch light as it mapped out along his scars. Abram was used to it now, was used to Andrew touching him like this, and no longer tried to pull away. Instead he arched his neck and closed his eyes when those lips began to trail downward, and curled his fingers inward to keep from trying to reach out, to grab onto his friend as the pleasure built inside of him.

When he felt the slight tug at the waist of his cotton pants, he drew in a sharp breath and opened his eyes to find Andrew looking at him, his expression solemn. “Yes?”

Abram had to wet his lips before he could speak. “Fuh-for what?” He didn’t know… just what did Andrew intend?

Andrew was quiet for a moment, and then sighed. “I want them off so I can blow you.”

It took a moment for those words to register, it was such a foreign concept for Abram. “Wait, what?” He frowned as he thought about it. “You mean… you? _Me_?” He almost reached for Andrew before he remembered in time. “Really?”

“Why would I bother to ask?”

He flinched from the bite behind those words. “But I – shouldn’t I be doing that for you?” He flinched again when Andrew’s expression turned into that awful blank mask. “I mean, that’s how it’s always-” He found himself silenced by a harsh kiss.

When Andrew pulled away, he kept his hands on either side of Abram’s face, the hold gentle but firm. “We’re not doing- we’re not doing ‘how it’s always been done’, dammit,” he said, his voice rough.

For a moment Abram felt guilty, felt as if he’d ruined things, and then he nodded. “Okay. You’re right.” He let out a slow breath. “Yes,” he said. “That is, if you still want to do it.”

He was given a dubious look for a few seconds, and then Andrew scoffed. “I suppose so.” When Abram frowned at that, he got pulled in for another kiss, this one more passionate than harsh.

All right, he could deal with that; he groaned a little and had to shove his fists behind his back, especially when Andrew’s hands stroked down his sides. He shivered a little at the gentle caress, and then gasped when he felt the tug on the drawstring of his pants. “Yes,” he murmured against Andrew’s lips, and gasped again when Andrew’s hands brushed along his hips to push down his remaining clothes.

“On your back,” Andrew told him, which Abram obeyed after pausing a second or two; the pants and underwear were pulled off of his legs, leaving him lying on the carpet naked with Andrew kneeling between his thighs. For a moment his friend stared down at him, which made him feel uncomfortable, and then leaned over with his left arm braced by Abram’s right shoulder.

It was a little frightening, having someone looming above him like that, but Abram kept reminding himself that it was Andrew, that he could feel the bands of knives on his arms. Then he was being kissed again, softly at first and then with increasing passion, and the fear gave way to want.

Andrew broke off the kiss to trail his mouth down Abram’s chin, which provoked a soft whine from him, a noise soon turned to a low moan as his neck was sucked and nibbled on for a minute or two. Then Andrew moved lower, his body braced above Abram’s as his mouth and fingers mapped their way along Abram’s chest, nipping gently at his nipples and smoothing over his scars, tracing along the dips of his muscles.  All the while the pleasure grew stronger, his body responded more and more until he gasped in need, his hips rocking back and forth as that mouth, that hand grew closer and closer.

Andrew slid back a little between Abram’s legs as his left hand came to rest on Abram’s hip, both for support and to still Abram. Cursing at the restraint, Abram stuttered silent when he felt his friend’s tongue swipe into his navel and then trail lower, when Andrew’s mouth placed a line of teasing kisses toward his left hip. He was shivering by that point, body filled with an aching sense of _want_.

He’d done something similar so many times in the past – something cruder. Nothing with this much care, this much attention. The feel of Andrew’s hand on his now hard cock nearly made him choke and his fingers to claw at the carpet. The feel of warm breath on the top of his cock made the back of his head slam into the carpet, and when Andrew finally took him in his mouth? Abram had never heard himself make a sound like that before.

He was beginning to understand why Jain and- why Jain liked this so much.

Oooh, did it feel good. He thrust his hips forward a little and then went still, well aware of how much he hated that, and was relieved that Andrew didn’t pull way because of the small slip. From there on out, he kept his body as still as possible even as the ecstasy burned brighter and hotter inside of him, as the feel of Andrew’s mouth and tongue and grip on him made him swear and gasp and moan. So damn good. Andrew pulled back to lick along the length of Abram’s cock then sucked on its head, and – fuck. “I’m- no, coming,” Abram tried to warn, but all Andrew did was suck harder, and the pleasure turned so sharp he could barely breathe as he came.

Abram hissed a little when Andrew’s mouth left his softening cock, and finally opened his eyes at that point. He pushed up on trembling elbows and didn’t do much more than sigh to see the asshole wiping his mouth and hand clean on Abram’s cotton pants – then noticed something about Andrew’s own pants. “Uhm… what about you?”

Andrew stilled at the question and frowned. “It’s fine.”

No, it wasn’t, considering what Andrew had just done for him. “It doesn’t seem that way,” Abram said as he looked his friend in the eye and motioned with his right hand. “Do you want me to-”

“ _No_.”

Abram sighed at the abruptness of that word and the way his hand was caught. “Doesn’t seem fair,” he repeated; it wasn’t anything he hadn’t done before, so why couldn’t he? Yet he had a feeling that wasn’t something Andrew wanted to hear just then.

Things were quiet while Andrew held on to Abram’s right hand, and then he let out what was clearly an annoyed sigh. “Close your eyes,” he instructed as he pulled Abram in closer.

“Huh?” Abram blinked at that, then quickly did as he’d been told as he felt fingers once more slide into his hair. Andrew tucked his face into the crook of Abram’s neck while there was the rustling sound of clothes being rearranged.

Once again, Abram’s fingers twitched with the urge to touch his friend, to do something, and Andrew must have noticed because he caught at Abram’s right hand and raised it to his head, where Abram commenced to comb his fingers through the short blond strands while Andrew’s warm breath and dry lips tickled his neck. He made sure not to hold on to the strands while Andrew masturbated next to him, just rubbed the tips of his fingers gently along his friend’s scalp and hummed a little, a slight gasp escaping him when Andrew’s teeth scraped along neck.

It didn’t take long - not that he would have minded if it did – before Andrew’s body became tense and his lips pressed hard against Abram’s neck as if in an attempt to hold back a sound. Abram stilled at that, told himself that it was Andrew, that it was okay, and then Andrew was pulling away.

There were more rustling sounds, and after about a minute, Abram received a flick to his forehead. “Ow!”

“You can open your eyes now.”

“Damn prat,” Abram mumbled as he did just that, and found Andrew standing up, dressed once more while Abram’s pants were – he wasn’t putting those back on. Dammit. At least his boxer-briefs appeared clean enough to wear upstairs. “Have I mentioned lately how much of an asshole you are, _hon_?”

“Sweet-talk will get you nowhere, _babe_ ,” Andrew said as he went over to the coffee table for a packet of cigarettes – Abram’s, of course.

Between the laptop and his ‘lovely’ roommate, Abram decided that he’d had enough for the day – time for a shower and then he had a date with a lovely bottle of gin. If a certain American knew what was good for him, he’d find a book to keep him amused until Abram had a few shots of that gin in him, or Abram’s new knives were about to be broken in.

So much for the damn post-sex euphoria he’d always heard about, or whatever. Then again, it might help if you weren’t engaging in sexual activities with an asshole. Maybe Bren was on to something about Abram’s next boyfriend being better.

In the process of rolling up the cotton pants into as small of a ball as he could manage, Abram realized what the hell he’d just thought just then, and threw the damn things into the fireplace rather than deal with them. Andrew watched him as he strode into the kitchen, dressed only in his underwear and sweater, to grab a new bottle of gin.

“Going for a new-”

Abram cut him off by brandishing a knife in his face, which earned him an arched look. “Not another word right now. I am very, _very_ serious about that.” While he spoke, he unscrewed the cap to the bottle one-handed, let it drop to the floor, and then walked away while drinking straight from the bottle.

Yes indeed, he was officially done with the day.

*******

Andrew watched while Abram made some french toast, a little disappointed that the idiot seemed to be getting the hang of the meal (at least, there was less cursing and flailing about this time around) while he also noticed that his roommate appeared in a better mood than the last two days. Some of it might have been the fact that Andrew had given in on the whole ‘let’s go run around central London until we’re (meaning Andrew) ready to collapse’ thing, but he had a feeling there was more to it than that. He still didn’t know what had set off Abram’s drinking binge the other night after the blow job, and would be rethinking everything between them because of it if it didn’t seem like yesterday’s pissy attitude had been more a case of a bad hangover than anything. Well, a bad hangover and Abram still being upset over his new laptop.

This morning, however, Abram had smiled at him and accepted Andrew’s verbal jabs, had given a couple back and asked him ‘yes or no’ when Andrew hadn’t smacked him down when running had been brought up. All they’d done was kiss, but it had been enthusiastic as hell, and Abram had broken it off with one of his moans to say that they had ‘better stop or they’d never leave’. A bit presumptuous of the idiot, though Andrew could have been persuaded to do a few pleasurable things other than run around on a cold morning. At least it looked like winter was slowly giving way to spring.

That and he was being treated to a nice breakfast for his efforts. He sipped his coffee while Abram finished cooking, and gave a slight sniff when his meal was put down in front of him, along with a bottle of syrup. “Don’t give up your day job, _babe_.”

Abram just smiled and shook his head. “You know, I’ll never have to worry about the Moriyamas or my father sending in an imposter for you – they’ll never find anyone who’s that big of an asshole, _hon_.”

Andrew flipped him off as he used a fork to cut into one of the slices of bread, then ate a couple of pieces while Abram made himself some scrambled eggs. “Since Bren should be back to work today,” the slacker, “I’m going to do some shooting with Liz.” He wanted to work on his aim a bit, considering what had happened in the last week, and pick up his new Kevlar vest. Nadav was all right, but Andrew didn’t feel comfortable leaving Abram with just anyone.

“Hmm?” Abram paused in moving the spatula about to look over his right shoulder, his hair covering most of his face. “That’s fine, it’ll give me some time to get some work done if you’re not here lurking around snacking all the time.”

That earned him another rude gesture, which the idiot just smiled at before he resumed cooking – not that Andrew noticed it every time that Abram smiled or anything. That he noticed that Abram seemed to be smiling more often lately. When he wasn’t being all hungover or waving knives in Andrew’s face or having panic attacks.

Or being kidnapped.

Maybe Andrew had been ‘lurking’ a bit much lately, but it bothered him, how ‘easily’ Abram had been taken from him. He had to do better, had to be better. No more assumptions on his part that Abram was in safe hands. No more assumption that he was good enough as is, that he was doing everything he could to keep his promise. Because it was clear he wasn’t.

He frowned at his plate at that thought, at least until Abram came over with his own breakfast and gave him a worried look. Andrew clicked his tongue as he speared another bite of toast. “One day you’ll learn how to cook.”

“Ah, I see.” Abram picked up his mug of tea with both hands. “Care to show me how it’s done?” When Andrew gave him a withering look, a slight smile curved Abram’s lips. “I thought not.”

“I don’t waste my time with hopeless cases.”

“Why do I even bother to do stuff like this then, hmm?”

“Because it amuses me to watch you fail.”

“I thought that might be it.” Abram nodded once before he started in on his own breakfast. After a few bites, he picked up his mug again. “Liz owes me a favor, perhaps there’ll be an accident with a bullet ricocheting around the gun range today,” he said in a perfectly pleasant tone.

“Pathetic as always, Hatford, making people do your dirty work.” Andrew clicked his tongue as he added more syrup to his plate.

“No, I just think it would be such a shame to get blood on the new tiles.” Abram gave him an innocent look as he spoke.

“But they’re _glazed_ now _, babe_.”

“There’s still the grout,” Abram pointed out. “ _Hon_.”

Andrew stared at the idiot while he chewed for a few seconds. “How do you know this shit?”

Abram’s expression grew… not exactly wistful, but something similar to it. “Cal’s father used to work in construction, would take him around on jobs before he died in a car accident.” He picked up the mug again and stared into it. “He talked about those days a lot, since things got pretty bad afterwards, what with – well, it’s a common story among a lot of our people, sadly. Single parents or abusive homes, not enough money or attention, things like that. Always are exceptions, but….” He shrugged once. “Anyway, Cal preferred to talk about the times with his father and what the man taught him, and that was things like tiles.” A wan smile tugged on Abram’s full bottom lip. “I think he did it as a distraction, to be honest. Just something to get me out of my head, back – it was back _then_.”

So of course Abram would have paid attention, probably desperate for anything to make him forget about what those bastards had done to him, for anything that got him out of those dark thoughts. Andrew knew how he had been, back in _those_ days, and still was when things got really bad. It was why he lost himself in his books and his workouts, why he sought out a certain idiot to torment and goad.

“Nice to know you’ve a back-up career planned, though it would be interesting, to see you on a construction site,” Andrew scoffed.

That got him a weak laugh – but a laugh none the less. “I think this is a case of knowing the theory not being the same as knowing it in reality.” Abram winced a little as he picked up a piece of toast. “Don’t believe it would work out very well.”

“Probably not. Best to stick with playing with words, even if it’s not a real job.”

“Hmm, I believe it’s time for your first official ‘you’re an asshole’ of the day.”

“And now my life is complete,” Andrew drawled as he got up for some more coffee.

Once breakfast was done and Abram was stuck cleaning up, Andrew went outside for a cigarette and made a couple of calls, the first to Liz to see if she was free for some target practice, and then to Stuart to double-check that Bren was back to duty and was still cleared to watch over Abram. When everything was all set for the afternoon, he went inside to read before getting ready.

Bren showed up around two in the afternoon, a few lingering bruises around his right temple and an impressive scar healing on the side of his head, the dark hair slowly growing in around it.

“Asya says that it’s a good thing she doesn’t love me for my brains, considering what little bits I had most likely spilled out when that bastard hit me,” Bren joked, referring to his girlfriend, one of the family’s doctors. Since she was related to Ramya Michaelson in some way, she tended to take care of Will, Miriam and that side of the business, which explained why Andrew hadn’t met her yet. Bren swore that she was wonderful, but Andrew had doubts about her tastes in men.

“I think she’s giving you too much credit in assuming you had any in the first place,” Andrew said as he pulled on his coat.

Bren turned toward Abram. “How much do you think it’ll cost Liz to shoot him for us, hmm? I’m getting awfully tired of the damn ice cream runs,” he complained, but he was smiling all the same.

“I’m sure she can be convinced with the right incentive,” Abram said, the traitor, “but isn’t the shopping better than Covent Garden?”

“Hmm, you’re right,” Bren said after thinking about it for a moment, while Andrew gave his friend a look to let him know there would be retribution later. “All right, have fun while I eat some of that ice cream you have me going all the fuck over London for while you’re gone.”

Andrew gave him a flat look as he settled his gun in his holster. “You do realize that I’ll be coming back from target practice, yes? From practicing my aim? Nothing like putting it to good use when I return?”

“Just to clarify, I don’t know anything about plastering walls. You’re on your own there if you miss,” Abram called out while on his way to the kitchen.

“I won’t,” Andrew promised.

“Really feeling the love here,” Bren shouted at the idiot before shaking his head at Andrew. “Fine, then, no ice cream. You’re no fun.”

“Depends on your definition of ‘fun’,” Andrew said before he left, which made Bren laugh.

Meanwhile, there was more shit to put up with from Liz when he got to the gun range. “So… you and Abram are doing well, from what I hear,” she told him with a smile.

“Don’t believe everything you hear,” he insisted as he put on the protective glasses.

“I usually don’t, but it’s not every day that Jason’s left so flustered.” She laughed a little as she put on her pair of protective glasses as well, then picked up the bright orange ear muffs but just held onto them. “Poor guy’s never walked in on two men like that before – and for it to be _Abram_?” Her smile was wide and bright. “I think he had this idealized vision of the man in his head or something, and you sullied it, you monster. You sullied Abram.”

Andrew thought about what had happened the other day and sniffed, just a little. “He better get over it.”

Liz laughed again. “Oh, I think we need another night out.”

Possible, now that Bren was back, and Andrew still needed to improve his knowledge of Eastern European swear words. “Maybe in another day or two. Right now I want to shoot up some paper.” He put on the last of his protective gear then motioned toward the guns lying on the wooden shelf in front of them.

Liz nodded in approval while she put on her own pair of ear muffs, and they got down to improving his aim. He hadn’t thought much of guns in the past, but he had to admit, there was something satisfying to seeing the holes group tighter and tighter, to controlling the kick of the gun and taking less time to aim as he grew more confident with the weapon. He still preferred his fists and his knives, but they weren’t always practical.

After a couple of hours, they made tentative plans to meet up in a few nights and Liz handed over Andrew’s new Kevlar vest (he tried it on, and it fit much better than Abram’s, even if it was still uncomfortable as hell). He came home to find Bren and Abram gathered in the kitchen, with several bags from the local grocery on the counter and Abram playing with dough on the island.

“Don’t tell me that you ran out or I really will shoot you,” Andrew warned Bren.

The large enforcer held up his hands while he shook his head. “Nope, not that stupid. I had Nadav fetch some things for your boyfriend.” While Andrew stared at Bren for that bit of nonsense and Abram almost knocked over the glass of wine next to him while he did – what the hell was he doing with the dough? – Bren laughed and reached for his leather coat, which was draped over one of the stools. “I’ll be going now.”

“Yes, please do,” Abram said, his voice a bit strained.

Andrew made sure the man got out the door and that everything was locked up and the security turned back on, then went to see what his idiot was doing. “What the hell is that?”

Abram sighed as he fussed a little more with the round circle of dough then picked up the wineglass for a long sip. “Bren and I were talking about pizza for dinner, and then… well, I guess I figured why not try making it?”

Why not? Perhaps because the man was barely managing breakfast? “You expect me to eat your first attempt at pizza?” Andrew asked in a flat tone of voice.

Abram sighed as he reached for a container of what appeared to be sauce. “I’m not making it from scratch – Nadav picked up the dough and all the ingredients, I’m just putting it together.” He looked up at Andrew as he gestured to the bags around him. “Figured that way you could put whatever you want on it.”

Huh, that might not be a bad idea. “So you’re just what, rolling it out and baking it?” He wanted to be clear on this, on his chances of food poisoning. “It’ll be edible?”

“Fucking prat, I swear it,” Abram muttered as he set the container down for more wine. “Yes.”

“All right.” Andrew shrugged off his coat and went to wash his hands. “Then the first one is mine.” He was hungry, after all.

“Of course.” Still, Abram smiled and got out of the way so Andrew could rifle through the bags to figure out what he wanted on his pizza, which turned out to be mostly a bunch of the various cheeses, cilantro, fries and jalapenos. It didn’t turn out too bad and he had a pizza all to himself, which he ate while Abram made another one for himself with less cheese, more sauce and mushrooms and sausage.

“You’re not an idiot all of the time,” Andrew proclaimed as he finished the last slice.

“So happy to hear that,” Abram said, his tone wry; he sat across the island and was only on his second slice of pizza. Since Andrew knew he’d never eat it all, he grabbed a slice. Hmm, it was all right, but he liked his better. Still wouldn’t stop him from eating some of Abram’s.

“I’m debating stabbing you each time you steal my food,” Abram remarked as he gazed at Andrew with something akin to annoyance.

“You can’t,” Andrew said after swallowing a mouthful of pizza. “Think of the grout.”

“To hell with the bloody grout.”

Andrew mock-gasped at that. “Now you’re talking nonsense, _babe_. Too much wine?”

“Too much something,” Abram grumbled, but he hid a smile behind his slice of pizza.

It was a good night, especially after everything that had happened in the past week. Andrew should have known that it wouldn’t last long, especially when the Moriyamas seemed to have decided that their main goal was to get their hands on Abram all of a sudden.

The day had gotten off to a good start, with the usual morning workout and breakfast. Instead of delving into his translating work, Abram had surprised Andrew with ‘yes or no’, which had led to a pleasant albeit messy diversion. He’d just gotten out of the shower when his phone rang; he was surprised to see that it was Micha calling him.

“Yes?”

“Minyard,” the German man said, his voice solemn. “There’s been an incident with your cousin and his husband.”

It felt as if someone had just punched Andrew in the stomach. “What? What happened to Nicky?” He dropped the sweater he’d been about to pull on. “How is he?”

“He’s all right, just a bit shaken up,” Micha said in a rush. “Him and Erik.”

Andrew closed his eyes upon hearing that and sat down on his bed. “What happened? Where were the people watching them, dammit?”

“They were out celebrating Carnival,” Micha explained. “Someone was able to approach them in the crowd, but my people got there in time.”

“Where are they now?”

“At their apartment.”

“Let me know if that changes.” Andrew hung up the phone then finished getting dressed before leaving his room, and went downstairs to find Abram at work in the kitchen. “We’re going to Stuttgart,” he told his friend, and it only took a brief explanation before Abram was on the phone to Jamie, insisting to his cousin that they needed to be on the next available flight to the German city.

There were times when Andrew wondered what the hell he was doing with Abram, why he allowed this one person in so close, and then there were times like these when it became obvious. Especially when he was on a plane within three hours, flying off to Germany to check in on Nicky to make sure that the pest was all right. That Nicky wasn’t seriously hurt because of Andrew, because of the choices that Andrew had made and people who had decided to hurt him through the one decent family member he had left.

Joey met them at them at the airport, Andrew and Abram traveled light since they didn’t expect to stay long, and drove them straight to Nicky’s apartment. Andrew remembered the last time he’d been there, remembered the dinner and Nicky telling him about Abram, about how he wanted Andrew to be happy. He paused outside for a moment and then forced himself to go in, to go upstairs and knock on the door to Nicky’s apartment.

It hurt to see Erik answer the door with a black eye and a bruised cheek, to see Erik stare at him with an expression of weary resignation for a couple of seconds before moving aside. “Andrew.” He bowed his head while behind him, Nicky called out Andrew’s name.

Andrew flinched to see Nicky with a split lip and an arm wrapped around his ribs as if they pained him; it wasn’t as bad as that night back in Columbia, at Eden’s Twilight, but it wasn’t good, either. “What are you doing here?” Nicky asked. “How did you know?” He looked past Andrew at Abram. “Uhm, can I get you something?”

Erik put a gentle hand on Nicky’s shoulder and pushed him back down on the couch. “Sit down,” he told his husband while looking at Andrew and Abram. “I’ll fetch some drinks. I think we’ll need them, yes?”

Andrew wasn’t surprised by that statement – Nicky was a bit of an airhead, but Erik had always struck him as observant. He glanced at Abram, who shrugged as he waited for Andrew to sit down in the one chair and then perched on the arm of it as if unwilling to be far from Andrew at the moment. “How are you doing?”

“All right.” Nicky winced a little as he sank onto the couch. “How did you know?”

Andrew waited until Erik returned. “Do you really need to ask that? I think at least one of you has it figured out.”

Erik gave him a cold look as he passed around glasses of wine. “You’re behind the men who’ve been watching us, yes?” He looked back and forth between Andrew and Abram.

“Actually, there have been some women,” Abram remarked as he accepted his glass of wine; they’d talked on the way to the airport and agreed that it was time to ‘fess up to Nicky. “But yes, my family has had some people watch over you for your own protection.” He paused for a moment as he stared into the glass held in his left hand. “My apologies, that you were involved in anything.”

Nicky shared a look with his husband when Erik joined him on the couch, his expression surprised but not as much as Andrew might suspect. “Okay, we figured… you always came and went, and there was your uncle. We wondered what you did, especially with the Russians and all. It’s not a surprise that it’s something… it’s not a surprise,” he said in a rush. “But this?” he looked at Andrew as he spoke, as he motioned to himself and Erik. “What’s going on? Why are you involved?”

Andrew drained half of the glass before he spoke. “Moriyamas.”

Nicky’s expression hardened while Erik looked on in confusion. “You’re kidding me.”

“No, I’m not,” Andrew said. “It was Moriyama people who tried to hurt you today.”

“Because of Kevin?”

“No, because of me,” Abram admitted. He finished off his wine then set the glass aside. “They feel they’re owed me, because my father works for them and… well, apparently he handed me over to them when I was a child.” He took to staring at his hands while he explained everything. “My mother objected and took off with me, and I eventually ended up with her family. Unfortunately, it seems that the Moriyamas and my father refuse to give me up.”

Nicky stared at Abram with something resembling horror, and even Erik lost some of his angry defensiveness. “You’re kidding me,” Nicky said, then looked over at Andrew. “Tell me he’s making this up.”

“No, he’s not,” Andrew said. “You think I’d joke about something like this?”

“Okay.” Nicky winced a little and sank back on the couch, his arms hugged around his chest. “What is with those assholes?”

“You don’t want to know,” Andrew said as he nudged Abram in the side until his friend looked at him. Until Abram stopped appearing so guilty about things that weren’t his fault.

“So what, the Moriyamas are back in your life? They’re trying to get Abram and so they came after us?”

“Basically.” Andrew leaned forward in the chair. “They can’t get at me so they’re coming at you now. Or at least they tried, but Abram’s family js watching out for you. Stay the hell the away from crowds and make their job easy, all right?”

Nicky stared at him for a couple of seconds. “You… you have people watching out for us? Really?”

Before Andrew could answer, Erik stood up. “You’ve had people watching out for us and said nothing? All this time and nothing?” His bruised face became flushed with anger and he stood in a protective manner in front of Nicky. “Does your cousin mean nothing to you that you allow him to be put at risk like that?”

Anger filled Andrew at the accusation, but Abram was on his feet before he could respond to it. “ _Don’t_ – don’t blame him,” Abram said, his voice low and rough. “This is all on me, they’re coming at you because they’re hoping to get at me through Andrew. He didn’t say anything to you because it’s my family, my business, and-“

Andrew yanked the idiot back down onto the arm of the chair as he glared at Erik. “I didn’t say anything because the two of you were better off not knowing anything. The less involved you were in this whole mess, the better, dammit.”

“Yet we are involved, aren’t we?” Erik argued while Nicky tugged on the back of his shirt.

“If I thought dropping out of your life would have worked, I’d have done it,” Andrew said as he looked at Nicky. “But I tried it once before and it didn’t go so well, so I didn’t tell you anything and you got people watching over you, to protect you.” Except for today.

“He’s right,” Nicky told his husband in a quiet yet even voice. “I would have just tracked him down again, you know that.” Nicky’s jaw jutted out and his expression hardened as he looked up at Erik. “I wouldn’t have given up on Andrew.”

Erik stared down at him and a smile softened his features after a few seconds. “No, baby, you wouldn’t have.” He let out a slow breath as he touched Nicky’s left cheek, the gesture tender. “So what are we going to do?” he asked. “Who are these ‘Moriyamas’? I don’t think it’s just Exy, yes?”

Andrew gave Nicky a look at that, a bit surprised that his talkative cousin had never told his husband the truth about Riko and Tetsuji. Then again, what was the need, once Kevin was out of their lives?

“I’ll explain it later,” Nicky said as he gave Erik’s left knee a pat once his husband sat down next to him. “But I’m going to guess that Abram doesn’t just do translating, right?”

“Not exactly.” Abram sighed as he tucked back a stray lock of hair falling before his eyes – which made Nicky stare at him, probably just realizing that Abram wasn’t wearing his grey contacts anymore. “It’s best you don’t know too much, just that my family’s involved in a lot of things and powerful enough to take on the Moriyamas.”

“Powerful enough to protect you,” Andrew insisted; he waited until Nicky looked at him then gave a slight shake of his head to discourage the pest from asking any questions about Abram’s appearance. “As long as you don’t do anything too stupid, such as go out in a drunken mob.”

“But it’s Carnival,” Nicky said with a mournful sniff, even as Erik nodded in agreement. “Fine. What about Aaron? Is he all right? Him and Katelyn?”

“He has people watching over him, too,” Andrew said, his tone flat and expression blank; Nicky blinked at that, but realized that Andrew didn’t want to talk about his brother anymore.

“Ah, all right. How about the others?” Nicky tried. “Renee and Betsy and Kevin? The rest of the Foxes?” He gave a nervous laugh as Andrew’s expression went even more flat. “Not good?”

“Renee Walker should be fine,” Abram explained, “considering her location and occupation. And we feel that Andrew put on enough of a show with Matt Boyd-Wilds to discourage anyone from attempting to use his former teammates against him.”

Nicky gave Andrew a knowing look at that. “Yeah, sure, it was an _example._ ”

“I haven’t talked to Bee in over a year, there’s no reason for anyone to go after her,” Andrew said as he gave his cousin a displeased look. “And I’m not worried about Kevin, not when he’s _with_ the Moriyamas.” Erik stirred at that, his frown returning as he glanced back and forth between Nicky and Andrew.

“Dammit, I was hoping… really?” Nicky’s expression turned sad when Andrew nodded. “I know he went back to Riko and all, but that bad?”

“Yes,” was all Andrew said, not wanting to drag Nicky into things any more than was necessary.

“I believe that Nicky needs to fill me in on things,” Erik stated as he reached for his husband’s hand. “There are things we need to talk about.”

Yes, they did, and if Erik didn’t want Nicky to have anything more to do with Andrew, then Andrew would accept that decision. Nicky had been there for him back when Tilda had died, had kept him and Aaron from Luther’s custody, had followed them to Palmetto State for some damn reason and insisted in being a part of Andrew’s life this long, Andrew wouldn’t ask for anything more. Not when he’d made a choice that put Nicky’s life in danger.

He nodded to Abram, who got up from the chair. When they both were standing, he went over to Nicky and held out a card. “Here’s the name and number of the person who’s in charge of keeping the two of you safe. Even if you don’t want to talk to me anymore, he’ll still look after you. Call him if there’s any problems.”

Nicky stared at him, dark eyes wide and injured mouth hanging open for a couple of seconds, before he grabbed the card then threw it behind him. “You think this changes anything? Fuck you, Andrew. _Fuck you_.” Then he reached for Andrew and pulled him in for a hug.

Andrew struggled not to lash out, to punch his cousin or go for a knife or even just pull away, to just stand there and let Nicky hug him. “You fucking idiot,” Nicky half-sobbed. “You’re going to owe me for this, you know? Who does things like this? You couldn’t find a cute guy who works in accounting or something? Get a job bartending?”

“Actually, Abram cooks the books as well,” Andrew pointed out as he patted Nicky’s arms in an attempt to make his cousin let go.

“Bloody fucking hell,” Abram muttered from somewhere behind him, while Erik’s expression grew pained.

“I did not hear that.”

Meanwhile, Nicky laughed as he finally let go of Andrew. “Always gotta be different, don’t you?” He sniffed a little as he smiled first at Andrew then Abram. “You guys are leaving already?”

“Yes.” Andrew was quick to step out of the pest’s reach.

“It’s for the best,” Abram said as he gave Nicky and Erik a polite nod. “We just wanted to see how you were doing. If you have any concerns, don’t hesitate to reach out to us or Micha.”

Erik frowned as he rubbed at the back of his neck. “This… this is… I don’t know what to think about this, having people watch over us.”

“You’ve had them watching over you for the last few months,” Andrew argued. “You didn’t have a problem with it before now.”

Nicky, who had been busy looking for the card he’d thrown aside, paused and looked back at them with wide eyes once more. “Wait – all the hot guys! At the bars? The hot guys at the bars! And the restaurants! You’re telling us all the hot guys near us are, you know, your people?”

Andrew pushed Abram toward the door, eager to be done with the conversation right about then. “Not all of them, but yes, you’ve been drooling over your bodyguards, congratulations.”

“Huh.” Now Nicky appeared thoughtful as he tapped the card against his chin. “And we’ll get more of them now?”

He’d say that the pest was just fine. “Do anything stupid and I’ll shoot you myself,” he warned Nicky before he opened the door to the apartment.

“That wasn’t a ‘no’!” Nicky shouted as they left.

Andrew slammed the door shut behind them, and things were quiet until they got into the car. Then Abram slumped into the seat while Joey drove them to the hotel for the night. “So, insanity runs in the family?”

“Don’t even go there,” Andrew warned. “ _Ally_.”

Abram winced at that. “Touché.” Then he gave out a slight laugh for some reason. When Andrew stared at him in curiosity, Abram shook his head. “Just imagining inviting Nicky and Erik to the next family gathering. It would be… interesting.”

“If by interesting you mean ‘catastrophic’, sure, go ahead.” Yet even Andrew had to find some dark amusement in the thought of Nicky at a Hatford party, drooling over the often muscular male enforcers, and probably hitting it off with some of the more ‘unusual’ personalities. Definitely something he never wanted to see happen in his lifetime.

Then his amusement faded away as he thought about what had almost happened to his cousin and Erik. “I’m starting to get annoyed now – if they want our attention, they should come at us directly.”

Abram closed his eyes and tilted his head back against the leather seats of the BMW sedan. “They do seem to be getting desperate, don’t they?”

“Just a little.” Andrew wondered if it meant that some sort of clock was running out for the Moriyamas, or that they were trying different tactics until something worked. All he did know was that it was one thing to strike at him, but another thing entirely to come at the people he considered 'his'. “Micha still has the assholes, right?”

“Yes, two of them.”

“Then it’s time to have a little talk.” They’d check into the hotel and change clothes before they went to wherever Micha was holding the Moriyama agents. Andrew didn’t hold much hope on finding out too much information… but he was tired of being on the defensive. It was time to figure out however much they could, to attempt to turn the tables. Let the pricks send as many nightmares from his past as they wanted – he would carve them up like he had Drake and put them to rest. But he refused to allow the Moriyamas any more chances to hurt Abram and Nicky.

He’d show them why he wore the name ‘monster’ with such pride.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> *huggles Nicky* He'll be fine. Honest. Not worth my life to do more than that to the precious darling.
> 
> Gah, I'm working on another part to the Dragon! Andrew fic and it's... gah. Eleven pages already, it's taken a plotty twist and I'm just... bah. Want to post something on Sunday but... gah. We'll see. It took a sharp right turn into Neil's background and his father and... gah. Hmm. *whaps self* Why do I do this to myself??????
> 
> And I have the fic prompt for Neil sick all plotted out. Hooh boy.
> 
> Anyway, anyone want to throw tracklists at me? Love listening to stuff while I write (and obviously the chapter list to this fic is one big tracklist).
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated!  
> *******


	12. Black Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ooookay. Yeah. Uhm. 
> 
> *nervous wave*
> 
> Don't hate me too much for this chapter, okay? Just remember, I saved Nicky and Bren!
> 
> *runs*
> 
> (much thanks to Huntwodh for the beta - any remaining mistakes are my own)  
> *******

*******

Andrew smoked a cigarette as he studied the two young men huddled in the makeshift ‘cell’ inside of the old winery just outside of Stuttgart. The place was musty, the air laden with rot from old wood and the stench of sour grapes, with the odor of other unpleasant things. He had the suspicion that Micha put the rickety stone building to ‘good use’, though all he cared about just then was that it was located far enough from everything that no one should care what he did inside of it.

He and Abram had changed out of their suits into clothes they wouldn’t mind ruining before they came to the building, Andrew in black jeans and a long-sleeved shirt, Abram in dark grey jeans and an old dress shirt with his hair pulled back. Micha arched an eyebrow at their appearance, at least until Andrew dropped the bag containing their spare clothes and they then began to roll up their sleeves to expose their arm bands – their knives.

“Which one do you want to start with?” Abram asked as he came up beside Andrew.

It was a good question, one Andrew had been pondering for the last minute or two, and eventually he settled on the younger of the captives, leaving the Eurasian looking guy to stew a bit longer. “Let’s go with this one,” he said as he pointed at the bastard with the bruised jaw and torn blue shirt.

Micha gestured at the two men standing near him; Andrew recognized one of them as Max, who had watched over him and Abram one night, and thought the other one was Stefano, who opened the metal door then stood guard while Max hauled the protesting bastard out of the cell.

The bastard tried to resist, but Max had about a hundred pounds on him and had to be around six and a half feet tall; Andrew would say ‘to hell with it’ to his fists and knives and go straight for his gun if it came down to a fight with the enforcer, he had no problem in admitting that. The man made Joey and Bren almost look _delicate_. Yet all he did was shove the Moriyama stooge into a wooden chair and held him down with two enormous hands on the guy’s trembling shoulders while Stefano fixed the handcuffs behind his back and to the chair, then gave a polite nod to Andrew and Abram.

Andrew had to acknowledge the professionalism, even if he had no use for it himself.

“I’m _almost_ tempted to let him beat the answers out of the bastard,” he commented to Abram. “Might be fun to watch.” Almost as fun as watching the bastard’s face pale at the suggestion.

“Hmm, Max is surprisingly good at targeting individual bones,” Abram said as he slipped a knife free.

“Thank you,” the large man murmured as he stepped back near Micha.

“ _Fuck_ ,” the bastard said, his voice quiet and oh, was that an American accent? No wonder Micha had kept him.

Abram appeared to pick up on it, too. “Yes, he’s very good at things like that. But perhaps we don’t want broken bones when it’s so much more fun to play with toys, yes?” He brandished about the knife he held in his hand, but didn’t move forward; it had been Andrew’s family that had been hurt, after all.

Still, if the bastard worked for the Moriyamas, he must know a thing or two about Abram – about Nathan Wesninski’s son. Light brown eyes, ringed by bruises, went wide as he stared at the slim British man. “No! No, I… look, what do you want?” There was definitely an American accent to the German words.

Andrew stepped forward with a knife held in his own hand. “You came here and tried to hurt two men – Nicky and Erik Klose. I want to know why, and who sent you. I want to know everything about the people who sent you.”

The bastard straightened up at the questions while behind him, in the cage, the other guy called out something that sounded like ‘John, no’.

‘John’ shook his head as he glanced back and forth between Andrew and Abram. “It – it was a mistake. We were drunk, all right?”

Andrew allowed a hint of a cruel smile to curve his lips as he lowered the knife. “We get to have fun,” he told Abram in English, and watched how the bastard’s eyes went wide. “Well, I do.”

“So greedy.” Abram sighed as he leaned against one of the brick pillars holding up the winery’s roof. “How about we make this interesting for me? I bet you can’t break him in half an hour.”

“No, no, I don’t know anything, it was a mistake,” ‘John’ babbled in his accented German.

“What are the stakes?” Andrew asked as he stepped forward, busy thinking on where he would start to not only tear the bastard down but put on a good show for bastard number two, whom he suspected of being the one with the real information.

“Hmm… dinner out one night a week, your pick, my treat,” Abram offered as he folded his arms over his chest.

Not quite as good as having the idiot give up his morning runs, but Andrew supposed that would be asking too much. “Two nights a week,” he countered; as long as they varied the nights and the restaurants, Stuart shouldn’t be able to bitch.

“Fine,” Abram agreed, just a touch churlish. “I suppose it’ll be better than having you bitch about my cooking.”

“It’ll certainly be better than eating your cooking,” Andrew said as he cut away at the blue shirt. “Oh shut up,” he told the sobbing bastard in German. “I’m not even touching you yet.”

“Be prepared to lose your bet,” Micha told Abram. “No fortitude, that one.”

Abram sighed as he tapped his knife against the nails of his left hand. “This is pathetic to watch. Are there no hiring standards or what?”

Andrew had to agree as he dragged the sharp edge of the blade down the bastard’s chest and frowned at the shrill scream that filled the large chamber as a result; he backhanded ‘John’ to make it stop. “Too loud.”

“Twenty-nine minutes,” Abram counted down in a sing-song manner.

“Just for that, we’re going to that French place in the Dorchester Hotel as soon as we get back home,” Andrew informed the idiot; he remembered Liz telling him about Jamie smacking Ally down for trying to arrange a ‘business’ dinner there one night. While Abram took to cursing in Russian about gluttons, Andrew got to work.

He broke the bastard in nineteen minutes – Micha had been right, no fortitude at all. Andrew didn’t even have to flay any skin, just do a bit of slicing here and there, threaten an eyeball and break a few fingers. He didn’t make a mess of his clothes for once, though his hands were bloody enough and John a sobbing, cut up wreck for Max to take back to the cage.

Unfortunately, he’d been right in guessing that ‘John’ didn’t know much, but there was still the other bastard.

“Give me a cigarette, _babe_ ,” Andrew said as he held up his hands.

Abram glared, which was much more impressive with the blue eyes than the grey, but reached into the front pocket of his pale grey shirt for his packet of cigarettes, which he shook out two. “You’re going to order half the bloody menu, aren’t you?”

“I told you, I’m a growing boy.” He watched on as Abram rolled his eyes at that before lighting up both of the sticks, then leaned over to slip one of them between Andrew’s pursed lips. “So thoughtful,” Andrew murmured.

“Get your ass back to work,” Abram said before leaning away. “Time to earn your keep, _hon_.”

Andrew made sure to blow smoke in his face before motioning for Max to bring out bastard number two, the Eurasian guy.

He attempted to struggle as well, which Andrew watched while enjoying his cigarette. Soon enough the guy was in the now stained chair, a bit of defiance in his dark brown eyes that Andrew could tell was pure bravado. Andrew drew in a couple more drags of the cigarette before he went over and put it out on the bastard’s left cheek.

This one wasn’t quite so shrill, he was pleased to know, though it took almost a minute for the screams to die down. “So, Ryu,” Andrew asked when the bastard took to sniffling, using the name that John had given up, “feeling good about those life choices right now?”

“Go to hell,” the bastard mumbled, quickly losing that defiance.

“You thought you could be somebody, could prove yourself by doing something big and bad.” Andrew had seen it enough at his time in juvie, in the various foster homes with the kids desperate to show that they weren’t worthless, desperate to stop being abused in one way or another. “Must have seemed an easy way to prove yourself, just take out a couple of fags, right?”

Ryu shook his head, or at least tried until the motion aggravated his burn. “We were only going to rough them up a bit.”

Andrew pulled out one of his knives – he was going to be busy cleaning and sharpening them later – and dragged it down the left side of the bastard’s face, through the burn. There was more screaming, but he’d learned to tune it out by now. “Don’t lie to me. This goes so much better for you if you don’t lie to me.”

“Wha… what do you want?” Ryu was sobbing at that point, his face a mess as he hunched over in the chair as much as his handcuffed wrists would allow.

“I want to know why the Moriyamas sent a bunch of little shits after my cousin and everything that is going on with Ichiro, Tetsuji and Riko,” Andrew said. When the bastard took to crying and shaking his head, he dug the tip of his knife into Ryu’s chin. “Don’t you get it? You’re already dead, you and John. You were the moment you laid a hand on Nicky Klose. Now tell me what I want and it’ll be quick.”

It took a little longer, took a bit of flaying and Andrew wondering if he’d have to do Liz’s trick with the burns, but eventually Ryu broke (just after the half an hour mark, much to Abram’s disgust). It required a bit of effort, but Andrew had a couple of answers – not nearly as many as he’d like, but he had a couple.

Tetsuji’s health wasn’t getting any better – seemed he suffered from the same kidney disease which had killed his brother. Riko wasn’t happy with the thought that someone else might replace his uncle and was determined to bring in Abram by whatever means necessary. Was determined to prove his worth to his brother. Andrew had the feeling that the last couple of desperate grabs were probably more Riko’s ‘brilliant’ ideas than Ichiro or Tetsuji’s, and had to wonder what more stupidity lay in store for them.

But Drake had mentioned Lola Malcolm, so that implied Nathan Wesninski had been involved somehow. Had Riko forced the man to work with him in that instance, or were the men allies? Was Wesninski betraying Ichiro in favor of his younger (more fucked up) brother? Or had Ichiro been behind Drake, and Riko behind the attempts on Abram and Nicky?

Andrew hated not knowing everything, and took out his frustrations on Ryu.

“I think you’re not going to get much more out of him,” Abram pointed out while he did something on his phone. “Time to let this go.”

Andrew grunted a little but had to admit that his friend was right; it wasn’t the grand confession that he’d hoped for, but these two weren’t high enough on the food chain for that. It at least confirmed a few things he’d suspected since Abram’s birthday, that Riko would be a problem. He had to wonder how the psycho had found out about things, but it didn’t matter in the end – Riko wasn’t going to go down without a fight and Andrew was only well aware that the prick fought dirty.

Life certainly wasn’t boring anymore. Andrew might be amused, if it wasn’t for the attempt against Nicky. Riko needed to learn about boundaries… but Riko was a spoiled, psychotic little prick and hadn’t ever been taught the meaning of that word. He deserved a bullet in the head the moment Tetsuji breathed out his last, if not before then – that was one thing Andrew felt that Ichiro got right.

Andrew made one last stab to finish up with Ryu while Stefano pulled out his gun and dealt with John, then went to clean up; he only had to change his shirt, and Abram helped with the knives while he scrubbed at his hands and arms.  Abram thanked Micha for everything, for looking after Nicky and Erik, for tending to the ‘mess’, while Andrew had another cigarette (he could see why Abram was favored for Jamie’s spot, what with that mix of lethality and courtesy, of all things), and then Joey took them back to the hotel. Since it was an early morning flight and it had been an eventful day, they decided to order room service and stay in for the night.

Abram was on the phone with Jamie while Andrew showered and pulled on the soft robe that the hotel provided even if it was a bit big, since all he had was some clean underwear and his suit left for tomorrow, they had packed that light. All that really mattered was the stocked bar and his pasta waiting for him.

Because of the phone call, he managed to get to the garlic bread before Abram, who glared for all of four or five seconds before calling him a diseased pig (at least, that’s what he thought the words meant) in Ukrainian then sitting down to eat his own dinner, some type of stew. “I should poison it one of these days.”

They had the best conversations, didn’t they? “Could you actually do that?”

Abram took a moment to consider the question while he buttered a plain roll. “My mother taught me a few simple things. Let’s just say that you didn’t want to be someone she became suspicious of while staying at the same place where we were,” Abram said with a slight wince, before he took a bite of the roll.

“Huh.” Andrew made a show of taking a big bite of the garlic bread. “More effective if you’re always on the go, I suppose. I couldn’t risk it with dear Tilda, not if the police ran a toxicology report even though she had so many drugs in her system at the time. I just pretended to be my brother Aaron and then surprised her while she was driving that shitty car of hers – a shitty car with oh so bad brakes and tires,” he confessed, a truth for a truth.

Things were quiet while they had more of their dinner, and Abram poured himself some wine. “I always forget that you’re an identical twin, I must admit,” he said with a slight smile. “You just… you leave too strong of an impression for there to be two of you out there.”

For some reason, Andrew didn’t think it was the whiskey that left a feeling of warmth inside of him just then, and that bothered him. “So have you ever poisoned anyone?”

“No,” Abram admitted as he scooped up more of his stew – it smelled a little spicy. “I helped her render them a couple of times, but she preferred doing things like that herself. Once she was gone….” He stared at his bowl for a moment before shivering. “Well, it’s a very hands-on business, as you’ve seen.”

“But it would spare the grout, I’d imagine.”

“Depends on the poison,” Abram countered. “I take it that Tilda didn’t believe in seatbelts?”

“No,” Andrew answered with a slight smile.

Abram arched an eyebrow at that. “I might understand a little about your fascination with cars now. Also, I’m stabbing you if you ever try to get me into one without a working seatbelt, just saying.”

“Nothing so obvious for you, _babe._ ” Andrew raised his glass of whiskey before tossing back the last few drops.

“Oh, how so very reassuring.” Still, Abram smiled in-between bites of his stew, and that damn warmth lingered in Andrew’s chest.

Andrew fetched the bottle of whiskey so he could refill his glass, and the rest of the dinner conversation revolved around their flight the next morning and some translation work that Abram was doing. Once the meal was finished, Abram went into his room, which left Andrew to deal with putting the cart of dishes out in the hallway then answering some texts from Nicky.

It seemed that his cousin wasn’t ready to shut him out of his life just yet, and said that Andrew and Abram owed Nicky and Erik a nice, long stay in London as a result. Not any time soon – Nicky at least understood that much, but yes, Nicky was going to try to guilt Andrew – good luck with that – as much as he could to stay in the townhouse as long as possible.

The man was an annoying pest, yet for some reason Andrew felt a strange release of tension in his chest just then. He never understood _why_ Nicky refused to cut him loose, why his cousin insisted on being there for him – especially since Nicky hadn’t known him for most of their lives – but… Fuck it. Nicky was a moron and couldn’t be explained. Erik was a love-struck idiot and went along with everything.

He texted back and forth with Nicky for a while, his answers borderline threats that Nicky seemed to ignore, and got a reply off to Renee as well (a warning to watch herself and to take a fucking carpentry class, what the hell?). After a couple more shots of whiskey, he felt calm enough to go to bed.

There may have been a nightmare or two about Tilda dragging Aaron down into her grave, of Riko smiling as his men took away Abram and Nicky while Andrew was helpless to do anything. Andrew scrubbed his hands over his face and hair when he woke up covered in sweat, then forced himself to go back to sleep.

He wasn’t in the best of moods when he woke up in the morning, but for some reason having Abram hand him a cup of coffee and a plate of sweets made him bite back on a withering comment, and soon enough Joey took them to the airport.

Once back in London, they fell into their normal routine, were back to Abram translating and Andrew keeping an eye on him, save for when they were called out to ‘assist’ on some questioning.

Jamie did her best to track any possible Moriyama people coming into London, and Stuart fretted about any threats against his ‘darling Ram’. Andrew was surprised at how much Abram held it together under all the fussing, but he always had the strangest of demeanors. He could be calm for certain things, and then react to others – Andrew knew it was based on emotions, based on his fucked up childhood. Abram could often be cold, but not when it came down to whatever he was invested in. That he cared about.

To family.

In a way, Andrew could understand. He didn’t give a shit about much except what he’d decided to protect, what he’d decided was _his_. The main difference between him and Abram was that it seemed that Abram had a wider definition of that word, that concept.

But Abram would be just as vicious in defending it, as evident whenever Jamie called them in to interrogate any leads. Andrew handled most of the dirty work, but Abram was laser-like in his focus of asking questions and wouldn’t hesitate to suggest methods of breaking the people, or to lean in at times to add a knife or put out a cigarette to maximize the effect. Andrew had seen a couple of people break while Abram smiled at them as he inflicted unexpected pain, braced as they were to withstand Andrew’s blank demeanor for as long as they could.

They probably held out the hope that the elegant young man leaning a few feet away couldn’t be as bad as the monster with the bloody hands in front of them, that he would put a stop to things. He was just as invested as Andrew in finding out everything possible about the Moriyamas, in who reported to them and any monetary accounts they had set up, any new business ventures and anything else they could uncover.

It made for an interesting end to February, between those special ‘assignments’ and Abram owning up to his lost bet to Andrew. As good as the meals were, some of the best restaurants in the city, Andrew had to admit what made them special was getting out of the townhouse. It was the time with Abram where they drove off in the McLaren and spent the evening at someplace different where they talked for a couple of hours, often sniping back and forth at each other while Abram teased Andrew over what he ordered and Andrew got on the idiot to eat everything. Where he sat at the table and noticed the looks sent their way, people wondering who they were, if they were famous or rich or together, and how Abram ignored it all just to mock him for his sweet-tooth or ordering pasta for the fourth night in a row.

Not bad for a nameless child who would never amount to anything, who would end up in prison or worse, too messed up to be of any ‘use’ to society. Andrew didn’t debate the ‘messed up’ part, he just felt that all those shrinks and social workers had been a bit narrow-minded on their definition of ‘society’. He’d finally found one where he _was_ very useful, after all, just not one that was on the ‘up and up’, so to speak.

He was driving back to the townhouse after dinner with Abram while he thought about that. “Do you ever have anyone look down on you, because of what your family does?”

“Hmm?” Abram blinked a little, as if he’d been drifting off and Andrew’s question had woken him up. “My family? You mean do they put us down?”

“Yes.” Andrew lit a cigarette while he drove, and shook his head when Abram snatched up the pack when it was dropped onto the console in the middle of the car.

“Not that I’ve noticed, but Uncle Stuart and Uncle Will tell a few stories about it when they were younger.” Abram shrugged after he lit his own cigarette. “I think these days, there’s too much new money for people to be all snobbish about it, and not many know what exactly we do.” He paused to breathe in some smoke. “There’s the people who do know, and they tend to treat us more with caution than ridicule, and everyone else just ignores us unless they think they can profit from us in some manner. At least, they do these days.”

Andrew paused to blow out some smoke toward the slight crack in the driver’s side window. “Capitalism, isn’t it amazing?”

“Utterly,” Abram agreed in a dry tone as he held his cigarette cupped in his hand. “Can hardly tell you’re American.”

“Hush.” They drove on for a little longer, until they hit some traffic not too far from the townhouse, despite the lateness of the evening, which made Andrew’s eyes narrow.

Abram seemed to notice that. “You could always have Bren drive.”

“No, it’s _fine_.” Probably a stupid movie or show being filmed, that or an accident.

“Yes, because you usually break out the death glare for no reason.” Abram smiled a little while he rested his head against the passenger side window.

“It’s not the death glare.” Not yet. Andrew turned a little to look at the idiot. “I save that for you.”

“Ah, now I feel special, _hon_.” Abram’s smile widened.

“You’re special, all right.” Andrew scoffed when the traffic slowed down even more. “Pull out that damn phone of yours and see if there’s a better route.”

“Hmm, I don’t know, that might be a bit too difficult for me to figure out, considering how _special_ I am.” Still, Abram did what he’d been asked. “Can’t this fancy car of yours do this?”

“It drives very fast. What else is a car supposed to do?”

“What else indeed,” Abram quipped while he swiped at his phone’s screen. “You couldn’t get a Renault or a Vauxhall or a-“

Andrew reached over to smack the heathen on the head before he could say any more vile words. “Keep it up and you’re walking home.”

“You damn prat.” Abram scowled at him before throwing his phone into Andrew’s lap. “It’s just a fucking car.”

“Do you even know how to drive?” Andrew asked as he grabbed the device and studied it for a few seconds to memorize the new directions.

“Yes.” The one word was spoken with a surprising amount of weariness, which made Andrew hesitate for a moment and hand over the phone rather than throw it back. “I learned when I was ten, and drove all over Europe. First car was a manual, in fact.” A sad smile came over Abram’s handsome face as he stared out the windshield, his gaze distant. “She always grabbed these old cars, whatever was cheapest or oldest, something no one would care about much if it got stolen. I didn’t drive an automatic until almost a year later, and nearly wrecked it when I forgot there wasn’t a clutch.” That slight smile faded when he rubbed at the back of his head. “She wasn’t happy about that.”

Andrew could only imagined how what sounded to be a high-strung, abusive woman must have handled the mistake, when it had mostly likely been Mary Hatford who had forced her own young son to drive the car in the first place. He was quiet for about a minute while Abram appeared lost in memories – memories which he doubted were very good. “So if you can drive, why don’t you?”

The question made Abram shake his head as if to dispel those memories. “Ah? Do you mean your car?”

“For starters.”

“Hell no,” Abram said with conviction. “Barely anything I drove had more than a V6 engine, I can only dread to think what this monster has.” When Andrew revved the McLaren’s engine at that remark, Abram scoffed, some of his mood seemingly restored. “Exactly. You that eager to end up in a damn wall?”

Nice to know that the idiot recognized his limits. “What about having your uncle get you something nice and boring, then?”

“He’s offered,” Abram admitted as he tucked back a lock of hair behind his left ear. “At first… I didn’t want to drive, too many bad memories. Then I didn’t see the sense of it when there’s people who do it as part of their job. Why get a car just for me, for the few times I go out?”

In other words, more of the idiot’s martyr shit. However, it worked out to Andrew’s benefit since it got him the McLaren. “Whatever. You’re definitely not touching my car now. Couldn’t handle it out of second gear,” he muttered.

“Guess you’re just stuck being my chauffeur,” Abram said with a satisfied smile.

There was one response to that, which was Andrew giving the idiot a rude gesture. When Abram shook his head, Andrew tapped his fingers against the steering wheel. “I didn’t have a car until Tilda died – spent the money from her life insurance policy on it. Got a loaded GS.” Something that was expensive and ridiculous that her brother had hated. He huffed a little while Abram looked at him. “Thought it was fitting, spending the money on a car when she died in one, on something that lost value as soon as I drove off in it since she hadn’t been worth shit alive. I didn’t really care what type of car I got, just as long as it expensive and it went fast. I like the idea of being able to go someplace fast.” Of leaving someplace fast, really. Bee had lots to say about that, about all the symbolisms for a sports car, but what it came down to was Andrew could always go somewhere fast after years of being trapped someplace one way or another.

The rest of the ride home was in companionable silence, and once they were in the townhouse and rid of their coats and shoes, Andrew tugged Abram into the living room while asking ‘yes or no’. His friend didn’t seem surprised by the question, but then again it might be becoming habit after their dinners. There was some satisfaction to be found in taking off the nice clothes that Abram had worn all evening long, to kiss the mouth that had smiled at him throughout dinner, to comb his fingers through the hair that had been pulled back all nice and neat until it was a tousled mess.

To thoroughly wreck the gorgeous man so many people had eyed all night long, and know that Andrew was the only one allowed to do such a thing.

He didn’t understand why he felt such compulsions with Abram, they certainly hadn’t been there with Roland or the few teens he’d experimented with back in juvie. Perhaps it was from spending so much time together, or that he had an agreement with Abram. Perhaps it was because Abram looked at him as if he was something of interest, treated him with respect and an almost reverence when it came to times like these.

All Andrew was certain about was how good it felt to have Abram stretched out naked beneath him on the couch, to feel the man’s body against his own. To wring those low, needy moans from him, the ragged whines of frustration when he pressed Abram’s hands to the blanket covered cushions or only allowed them to touch his head, shoulders or back.

He’d gotten far enough to take off his own clothes with Abram, but he didn’t allow his friend to touch him below the waist and Abram was mindful enough to not look, either. Even though Abram allowed Andrew to do whatever he wanted (within their established limits), to touch the scars he otherwise kept hidden, Andrew still had lines that couldn’t be crossed just then. He had clearly defined lines, and Abram not enough.

The idiot still didn’t understand why Andrew didn’t want a blow job from him, when it had been made clear that Abram was used to doing it for Jain. When Abram was used to doing a lot of things for Jain, it seemed, and getting nothing in return. Andrew refused to let Abram fall into those habits with him, to think he was there for Andrew to use. It wasn’t going to be like that. Andrew refused to treat Abram like everyone else had done in the past, to be like those bastards, to be like the people who had used them both. If for one moment he suspected that the idiot wasn’t doing things of his own free will, he’d end it all.

Yet Abram almost always said ‘yes’, unless it was a bad day. Unless there were too many shadows in his eyes and too strong the scent of gin on his breath. Hearing Romanian was always a sign that he’d say ‘no’, not that Andrew pressed after the one time when all he would have offered was a similar head rub to what Abram had given him for Drake.

Abram sought him out without any pattern, so he didn’t think that it was the idiot trying to keep things even between them or something like that. It appeared that Abram did indeed want him, and once Andrew got it through the idiot’s thick head that one blow job didn’t equal another, or just because one of them got off that the other didn’t have to as well. Abram kept saying ‘it wasn’t fair’, but Andrew had to wonder if it was only because Andrew hadn’t come, or because Abram had.

Not something he wanted to think about just then. Not when Abram was cursing softly in what might be Ukrainian while Andrew ground his hips downward, as their stiff cocks slid together. He could tell that Abram wanted to touch him, wanted to stroke him and take some control, but Andrew didn’t allow it. _He_ liked being in control, liked knowing that no matter how frustrated Abram became that his friend wouldn’t cross any lines, liked to hear those muttered curses and see the weakened glares sent his ways.

“My head,” he conceded as he rocked his hips again, and shivered a little when Abram’s fingers slid through his hair; usually he didn’t allow this, but Abram was mindful not to pull or grab on the strands, and the feel of fingers stroking along his scalp felt good. He buried his face against the side of Abram’s neck as they continued to rock together, hips undulating to create the most wondrous friction that had Andrew panting as the pleasure grew sharper with each heartbeat, each touch. Then that pleasure twisted into something that cut right through him, along all his nerves with an electric charge and snatched away his breath, threatened to take away his control completely. He closed his eyes and pressed his mouth hard against Abram’s neck, his fingers tight on the hips still moving against his own. He fought not to make a sound, his mouth moving against Abram’s neck as he came.

It took him a few seconds to realize that Abram had gone still – too still. That the fingers were gone from his hair. Andrew stilled himself for a moment then opened his eyes as he pulled back a little. “Abram?”

“Wu-would you pu- kindly move?”

Abram didn’t sound good.

Andrew moved as slowly as he could to the end of the couch and as he sat up, he noticed how Abram held his arms crossed over his upper face, his right hand clenched around his left arm band as if in reassurance – or in an attempt to keep his fingers from going for a knife. He was trembling minutely, and it was clear that he was no longer aroused.

Andrew had no idea what he’d done wrong, until he caught the red mark on Abram’s neck, what looked to be a scrape of some sort. _Shit._ He got up to leave, furious with himself for crossing the line, but Abram called out his name before he got more than a step or two away from the couch.

“Andrew. _Don’t_.”

“Why not?” Andrew sank back down on the couch and let out a short, angry burst of air even as he grabbed the edge of the blanket so he could flip it over Abram’s nakedness. His friend appeared surprised by that even as he tucked it around him. “I fucked up.” It hurt to say the words, to admit it, but he’d done it. He made to get up again, only to have Abram shove him back down onto the couch.

“Did you… it was a mistake, yes?” Abram got up on shaky legs to fetch the blanket from the loveseat, which he tossed at Andrew before he curled up back on the couch; he surprised Andrew not just with the question, with insisting that he stay, but by sitting down within reach. Why? Didn’t he want to be as far away as possible from Andrew just then?

When all that happened for about a minute was Abram staring at him, Andrew admitted “yes.” Not that it made things any better.

Abram closed his eyes as he brushed his fingers over the scrape. “I’d appreciate you not doing it again - using your teeth.”

Was this even happening? “I fucked up,” Andrew repeated. That was it.

“Once.” Abram opened his eyes to stare at Andrew. “With all of our issues, it was bound to happen,” he said with a weak smile. When Andrew didn’t do anything in return, he sighed. “You barely let me touch you, yet you always make me feel so good. Of course if anyone was going to fuck up, it would be you. Don’t blame yourself, you stupid prat.”

Was that a compliment? Andrew narrowed his eyes at the idiot as he wrapped the blanket around him. “What does that mean?” Why wasn’t he angry? Why wasn’t he telling Andrew to fuck off?

Abram sighed again as he tugged on a loose strand of his hair. “Exactly what I said. It’s easier for me to avoid your issues when yours are so well defined, when there’s only so much I can do at one time. You’ve been very good with mine, but you do more for me than I do for you. Of course there’s more of a chance that you’ll mess up.”

“If this is more of your ‘not fair’ shit, I’m going to be upset,” Andrew said. More upset.

“It’s not,” Abram argued, finally showing a bit of temper. “I’m just saying that I understand and it’s all right, dammit. Thought you shouldn’t blame yourself, but fine, go ahead, wallow, you asshole.” He gathered the blanket around him and got up from the couch so he could begin to pick up his clothes.

Andrew watched him for a few seconds as he pieced things together before getting up as well, and went to touch his friend on the shoulder. Abram didn’t flinch from him, just stood there with his sweater in his hand and gave Andrew a level gaze. “What?”

“You can say ‘no’,” Andrew reminded him. “If you don’t trust me, if you don’t want things.”

Abram sighed as he straightened up and turned to face Andrew better. “It may surprise you – I know it sure as hell surprised me – but I enjoy this thing we have going on between us.” A hint of pink spread across his cheekbones. “Do I feel that things are ‘unfair’? Yes, but it’s because I’d like to make you feel as good as you make me. And I know you’re not… you’re not them,” he said with a bit of heat. “It’s why you didn’t get a knife in your damn back just then. It just stopped things from feeling good.”

Standing there naked save the blanket and in need of a shower, in need of some time to think about what had just happened, Andrew considered what Abram had said before he nodded once, before he decided to take it at face value. “I don’t want you doing things because you believe you owe me anything.”

“Right now, the only thing I believe I owe you is a bloody knife to the throat,” Abram ground out.

Andrew scoffed in derision at that, which brought out a hint of the creepy smile. “No teeth. I knew that before, but I’ll make sure of it from now on.”

That made the smile fade away. “Thank you.” Abram ducked his head before he resumed gathering up his clothes. “Ah, everything else was very nice. Before that, I mean.”

Andrew never understood why his friend had to say things like that, why he felt the need to thank Andrew and everything – it was rather evident when Andrew made Abram feel good. Unless it went back to the fact that no one had ever bothered to ensure that Abram had really felt good before, which wasn’t something Andrew wanted to think about when his temper had just settled.

So he gathered up his clothes as well, and while on his way to the stairs, stopped right next to Abram; he appreciated the fact that there wasn’t that much of a difference in their heights, that all he had to do was rock forward a little and, when Abram didn’t pull away and gave a slight nod, raise up on his toes a bit more for a brief kiss. Just something to assure himself that he hadn’t really fucked anything up.

There was that low moan when he pulled away, that flutter of long eyelashes and the slight lean as if to follow him. Not the signs of someone who was afraid of him, of someone who wanted to put an end to things.

He went upstairs to shower and get ready for bed, and if he had a nightmare that night of hands holding him down, of dark figures pinning him to the bed and then placing a faceless mask just like theirs on him, then the tight feeling in his chest was gone the next day when he went downstairs to see Abram smile at him without any darkness in his eyes or sense of reservation. To have his friend tease him about a morning run and promise breakfast afterward, and offer up a fleeting kiss as he handed Andrew a cup of sweetened coffee before Andrew could go to his room to change.

Andrew supposed that it would be one of those times when Bee would remind him that he was human, that he couldn’t control everything and that he needed to accept his mistake for what it was and move on. When Renee would tell him all that mattered was the intent, that no one was perfect but as long as they strived to be better, it would be all right. Nicky… the pest would probably tell him to just keep doing Abram and do ‘doing’ better next time.

Why did Andrew continue to associate with the pest?

Still, he suffered through the morning run and amused himself by having Abram try his hand at a frittata. That proved to be a very entertaining hour, and the frittata wasn’t half bad. They would need a new skillet, but the meal was decent for Abram’s first attempt.

“I hate you,” the idiot muttered as he threw the skillet away, then surveyed the mess he had to clean up.

“Somehow I’ll find the will to live on, _babe_.” Andrew had another bite. “More cheese next time.”

Huh, it sounded like Spanish that time, Andrew would have to ask Nicky what it meant. He continued to eat his breakfast while Abram stomped out of the kitchen while muttering curses beneath his breath.

Abram returned after he ‘had’ a cigarette, hair tousled as if he’d run his fingers through it a few times and temper in check, and gave a considering look at the frittata Andrew was rapidly consuming before sighing and settling for his usual scrambled eggs and toast. Andrew went into the living room to start a fire, something he’d never understood the appeal of such things before, having lived in states where the weather was hot most of the year. However, he had to say, there was something about having a fire going on a damp, cold day, of hearing the crackle of wood burning in the large room while he and Abram sat about in otherwise companionable silence (that and he liked to start the damn things, he could admit it). Abram came into the living room with his laptop and settled on the loveseat to work while Andrew read.

After about an hour or so, Abram made a slight humming sound. “Would you come here?”

A little put out by the request because the book he was reading was good (for once Renee had made a decent recommendation), Andrew got up after a few seconds since Abram didn’t often bother him without a reason. “What is it?”

“Jamie wants you to look over these passport photos – she thinks they might be tied to the Moriyamas.” Abram glanced up at him. “If you got your laptop, I could send you the files.”

“Just give me yours,” Andrew said as he sat down on the loveseat beside the idiot, unwilling to waste any time. Abram handed over the device, the new one much lighter than the old, and Andrew scrolled through the screen to study the various passport photos – he wondered if Jamie had called in a ‘not favor’ from Lloyd and if Abram would be put to work soon.

He paused at the fourth photo and tapped on the screen to enlarge it. “She’s an ex-Raven. Not sure what happened to her, but I remember her from one of Wymack’s packets. Dealer sub, maybe third stringer.” The name was different from what was in Andrew’s head, as was the hair color, but the facial structure hadn’t changed, nor the broken look in her eyes. He’d have to say that she hadn’t survived the Nest. Then again, he didn’t think any of the Ravens did, not really.

Abram pulled out his phone and started texting Jamie rather than take back his laptop. “These were all flagged because something seemed off with their IDs in some way, or they raised some suspicion when entering the country.”

“You don’t get much more damaged than a failed Raven,” Andrew agreed. “You gotta hand it to Tetsuji there.” He remembered Day with his utter lack of a spine, remembered all the empty liquor bottles lying about their dorm suite and the house in Columbia. Remembered how little it had taken for the man to go crawling back to Riko.

Bee hadn’t appreciated it when Andrew proposed to her doing a long-term study to see how many Ravens lived past their fifties, considering what he saw of Day’s alcohol consumption and broken psyche. He’d been willing to bet that they wouldn’t handle ‘retirement’ well, being unable to play Exy anymore, no longer being ‘the best’, and imagined that there would be a lot of messes to clean up. Bee told him that he was being exceptionally dark that day and asked him about his dreams, and things had gone downhill from there.

“Yes, the family exceeds in fucking people up.” Abram stared down at his phone for a moment before he shook his head, his hair falling down to hide his face. “Makes one wonder what their conversation is like at the family dinners.”

Despite himself, Andrew reached over to tuck aside the thick, wavy strands hiding his friend’s face to reveal a slightly mocking smile. “Bet they don’t bitch about the grout.”

“Uncultured sadists.” Abram’s smile strengthened when Andrew’s hand lingered on the back of his neck for a moment, and then he motioned at the laptop screen. “Recognize anyone else?”

“Slave driver, give me a moment.” Andrew forced his gaze back onto the photos and continued scrolling through them, and found a couple more ex-Ravens; he never thought he’d be thankful for Wymack’s information packets or for Day making him watch all those professional Exy games.

“All right, now they’ll start to track them down,” Abram said as he finished exchanging some messages with his cousin. At Andrew’s expectant look, he shook his head. “No, we sit this out – you were able to recognize them, and I’m willing to bet they’ll know you. You played Exy, you were on the same team with Kevin Day. That means something to them even if they’re nobody to you.”

Dammit, the idiot had a point. “But we’ll be there to question them, _right_?” He still owed the bastards for what they tried to do to Nicky, for them thinking they could come in and take Abram away. Andrew wasn’t going to stop until he broke the Moriyamas.

“Yes,” Abram assured him. “We’ll be called once they find them.” He set his phone aside then reached for his laptop to set it on the coffee table; when Andrew just sat there, was very slow about moving over until he straddled Andrew’s lap. “Should I be worried about you being so eager to cut people up?”

“Nicky,” Andrew said as he was just as slow to put his hands on Abram’s hips. “What are you doing?”

“Isn’t it obvious?” Abram rested his hands on the back of the loveseat. “Yes or no?”

Andrew gave him an assessing look for almost a minute while he attempted to figure out if Abram was serious, if this was some sort of over-reaction from the night before, but all Abram did was stare down at him with a slight arch to his left eyebrow and a hint of a smile on his face as if daring Andrew to do something… so he did.

“Shoulders and above,” he said as he slid his hands beneath Abram’s soft sweater.

“Damn you,” Abram gritted out even as he leaned in for a kiss.

That time Abram did come – Andrew made sure he came first, and Andrew was careful about his teeth. There was no hesitation in any of Abram’s reactions, in letting Andrew remove his clothes, in letting Andrew touch him or kiss him, and that remaining bit of tension inside of Andrew finally went away.

He didn’t know why the idiot allowed him to do so much, allowed him to – he didn’t know. He didn’t know why he didn’t walk away from it all. That bothered him, but not as much as the thought of not doing it anymore. Of coming down in the morning to an empty kitchen, of not having Abram there to drag him out for a torturous morning run or tease about possessing mediocre cooking skills or any of it.

Andrew was quiet for the rest of the day, was unwilling to talk or do much of anything as he did his best to push such ridiculous thoughts out of his head. Abram left him alone, as always, and gave him some much needed space. There was an order of his favorite pasta and garlic bread in the evening, which Andrew stared at for several seconds before he gathered up the containers and some whiskey, then retreated to his room for the rest of the night.

He sent Renee a text asking her how did she know if something was real when it was too ridiculous to be true?

There was a reply for him in the morning when he woke up, telling him that he had to take it on faith. He sent back that she was as useless with advice as she was with carpentry. Why did he bother with her again?

Abram took one look at him and backed off with his hands held up. “Right, treadmill?”

“Unless you have a strong desire to be shoved in front of a bus at some point during your run,” Andrew muttered as he went for the coffee machine.

“Hmm, no, I was hoping to avoid multiple fractures today, silly me.” Abram waved to him before he left the kitchen for the exercise room; Andrew enjoyed some coffee in peace before he joined him, focusing on lifting weights even without a spotter until he felt his dark mood lessen.

It was after breakfast (omelets, but he thought he’d talked Abram into trying pancakes again the next day) when Andrew’s phone rang. He set down the mug he’d just refilled with coffee and picked up the device when he noticed that it was Nicky calling, and wondered what his cousin wanted – no matter how much the pest felt it was ‘owed’, he and Erik weren’t coming for a visit anytime soon, not until things with the Moriyamas were settled.

“Keep your ass in Stuttgart,” Andrew said by way of ‘hello’, which earned him a curious glance from Abram.

“Andrew.” Right away, Andrew picked up on the unusually solemn tone to Nicky’s voice. “I, ah, that’s not why I’m calling,” he said in English. “Shit.” He took a deep, shaky breath.

Something cold lodged itself in Andrew’s chest. “Aaron. Is it Aaron?” Had those pricks somehow gotten to his brother?

“No,” Nicky told him in a rush. “I just… I just found out from Abby. She didn’t have your number so she called me. It’s about….” Nicky paused again, and before Andrew could yell at him, continued. “It’s Betsy.”

Andrew stood there while Abram dried his hands and came over, not too close, but stood nearby with a worried expression on his face. Stood there while Andrew ran the words through his head. “Something happened to Bee.” For a moment he tasted hot chocolate on his tongue, could smell the lemon furniture polish she always used to clean her office, the citrus air freshener she used to mask the odor of cigarettes. “How is she?”

When Nicky didn’t answer, Andrew clenched his left hand around the counter. “ _How_ is she?”

“She… Abby said something about a car accident,” Nicky told him, his voice thick with emotion. “Someone ran a red light and hit her car, then kept going. They’re still looking for the driver. She’s… I’m sorry.”

An accident. _Someone_ just _happened_ to drive their vehicle into Bee’s. She probably still had that piece of shit Malibu that she said was fine, that got her around and she didn’t need anything fancy or fast and the latest model when her car was still running. How many times had Andrew sneered at her and called her a public servant? Had mocked her for not going for the big bucks in a private practice and making a decent paycheck? She could have afforded a damn SUV then, something bigger and stronger and safer.

She could have avoided Andrew, then.

“Andrew? Are you… are you all right?”

“Send me whatever information Abby gives you about – send me the information,” Andrew told his cousin. “I want to know it.”

“I will,” Nicky promised him.

“And don’t do anything stupid,” Andrew told the pest. “No crowds, no being an idiot with strangers, nothing.”

“Okay,” Nicky agreed in a quiet voice. “I’ll be good.” He was quiet for a moment. “You know this isn’t your-“

Andrew hung up on him then threw his phone onto the counter, unwilling to hear the rest of that false statement – it _was_ his fault. He’d thought that Bee would be safe because he hadn’t talked to her in over a year, and oh what a mistake that had been.

Abram continued to stand there quietly until Andrew glared at him. “What?”

“What do we need to do?” He asked, his arms folded over his chest and his voice quiet.

Not ‘are you are right’ or ‘what happened’, just ‘what do we need to do’. For some reason, those words took some of the edge off of Andrew’s churning rage just then.

Some.

“We need to find those Ravens, and we need to hurt the Moriyamas,” he said, his voice just as quiet. “And I want a phone number.”

Abram nodded as he reached for his own phone from where it lay on the counter and handed it over to Andrew once it was unlocked. “Understood. Ask Jason for it.”

Andrew could do that with his own phone, but sending out the orders from Abram’s? From Abram _Hatford_ ’s? It would be done that much faster. He flipped through the contact list and fired off several ‘requests’. Once that was done, he set the phone aside and then went to fetch the whiskey.

After he had ingested a couple of shots worth of alcohol, he set the glass down on the counter and stared at the half-empty bottle. “They got to Bee.”

Across the room, Abram stirred from where he’d been leaning against the island. “Bee? Betsy Dobson?”

“Yes.” Andrew refilled the glass.

“But you said you haven’t been in contact with her for most of your time post-graduation.”

“I haven’t,” Andrew agreed before he downed some more whiskey. “She attempted to stay in touch when I moved back to Columbia, but after a while I ignored her calls and attempts to meet up. Our last exchange was along the lines of me telling her to fuck off and her replying back that she’d always be there for me.” His lips twisted in a bitter parody of a smile. Oh Bee, making a promise she couldn’t keep.

The smile was wiped away as he threw the glass into the sink. “She should have been safe.” He hadn’t spoken to her in ages, he had cut her out of his life. “There was no fucking _point_ to this!”

Abram closed his eyes as he ran a hand through his hair. “It hurt you. That was the point.” When Andrew lunged for the idiot and grabbed him by the shoulders, all Abram did was offer him a broken smile. “It’s what they do. They find some way to hurt you.”

Andrew wanted so badly to punch him just then for saying that, for implying that Andrew could hurt. For implying that Bee had been killed to hurt _him_. Yet there was this cold vice crushing the inside of his chest, and an awful understanding in Abram’s blue eyes. All he could do was let go of the idiot and retreat back to where the whiskey bottle was and drink straight from it for several seconds.

“They would have found someone to use against you,” Abram said in that same quiet voice. “If it wasn’t her, then it might have been that coach of yours, Wymack. Or they would continue to go after Nicky. They wanted to prove a point and they needed a body for it.”

“It would be a good idea for you to stop talking,” Andrew warned as he set the bottle down.

“Probably, but you need to hear this,” Abram insisted. “You think they didn’t do the same thing to me? It’s been more than Bren, Cal and Davis looking after me, you know,” he said, his voice growing rough as he named the enforcers.

About to spin around and punch his friend, Andrew paused and forced his hands to unclench. “I want those Ravens,” he repeated instead as he leaned against the counter while he faced Abram.

“You’ll get them,” Abram promised. “Though you know it’s probably what we’ve been doing lately that drove them to target the psychiatrist in the first place.”

“Then we know we’re starting to hurt them,” Andrew said with a cruel smile. “Make sure that there’s enough people on Nicky and Aaron and it won’t be a problem.”

Abram nodded as he picked up his phone. “What about the rest of the Foxes? Wymack?”

Andrew thought about it for a minute then shook his head. “I’ll send a message to Renee and warn her to be careful, see what she thinks would be a good idea for the team, but it’s not sensible to put any people on them. Once you start, it makes them official targets.” It let the Moriyamas know that Andrew valued them – which he didn’t – and then they were fair game. “As for Wymack and Abby, I think it would draw too much attention if another Palmetto State faculty member associated with me died, don’t you?”

“It would raise some suspicions.” Abram frowned as he paused in texting on his phone. “Which makes me wonder why they picked her in the first place.”

“As do I. Where’s that phone number?” Andrew had someone he wanted to ‘talk’ to, who might have the answer to that question.

Abram finished whatever message he was in the middle of, and then scrolled through another screen on his phone. “Jason says to give him half an hour.”

Not ideal, but Andrew supposed he had no other choice; he forced himself to put the whiskey away and had coffee instead, while Abram was busy on his phone texting and then fielding calls; it sounded as if some people had been ruffled by Andrew’s ‘requests’, but Abram stood behind them even if he smoothed over things a little. He might be able to go about ‘asking’ nicer than Andrew did, but in the end he still got his way.

 Andrew was reminded of Renee, of how she managed to get things done with her smiles and seemingly placid manner, and had to wonder what her and Abram could do if they worked together. Too bad that Abram didn’t seem to care for her too much, being able to see beneath the ‘good Christian’ veneer even if he didn’t know about Natalie.

Having decided to vent some frustration by throwing knives down in the garage, Andrew nearly cut his thumb when there was a knock on the door before Abram slipped inside. “What?”

“You didn’t bring your phone with you,” Abram said. “Jason has the number for you.”

About damn time. Andrew slid his knives back in place as he hurried from the garage; Abram held the door open for him, then closed it behind him while he ran up the stairs.

His phone was on the island, where he’d left it, and Abram had forwarded the number from Jason. Andrew grabbed the device and then his coat before he slipped out into the back garden, and noticed that Abram didn’t attempt to follow him.

It would be pretty fucking early in the morning on the East Coast, which meant that Abby had probably been up all night dealing with Bee’s accident and death when she had called Nicky. It was only fair that Andrew was dragging Kevin Day out of bed because of Bee’s death, and noticed that it only took him redialing the number three times for the coward to answer it – someone wasn’t sleeping very well, were they?

“Huuuh… whuu… who is this?” Kevin’s voice was thick with exhaustion and sounded more than a little clueless.

“Come now, Day, it wasn’t that long ago when you were chasing _me_ down. Just how much have you been drinking? Maybe it’s true what they say, alcohol does kill brain cells.”

There was silence on the other end of the line for several seconds, and then Kevin coughed. “Andrew?” Now his voice was haggard with disbelief. “An-andrew?”

“Just how many people do you call up for that prick and tell them to run away or else?” Andrew reached into the inner pocket of his coat with his left hand to fetch his spare packet of cigarettes because he foresaw this taking a while; he needed a distraction, needed something to rein in his temper before he started spewing expletives or screaming or something.

“Andrew,” Kevin sighed. “It’s just – I didn’t think you’d call me.”

“Why wouldn’t I?” Andrew asked as he shook a cigarette free and stared out over the garden; it looked like a few things were trying to grow, now that the weather was starting to warm up a little. Was someone going to come over to take care of it? He sure as hell wasn’t going to be bothered with mowing or weeding or any other such shit, and Abram would probably think it cute to plant poison ivy and toxic mushrooms or something. That and he’d have half the neighborhood over to help him out within two weeks.

Bee would hate how disorganized the flower beds were, how unsymmetrical the design was and the hedges scattered everywhere as if without any thought.

Kevin stopped clearing his throat and finally answered. “Because… because you were angry with me last time, and told me never to call you again. To never bother you again.”

Andrew paused to take a deep drag from the cigarette and hold the smoke in his lungs before he let it go. “That’s so ironic, because you know who else I told those same words to? To Bee Dobson.” He heard Kevin’s sharp inhale over the phone. “And she’s actually following them, only because she happens to be dead now. Something about a car accident. You wouldn’t know anything about that, would you, Day?”

“Andrew, I, I don’t, I’m so sorry, I-“

“ _No_ ,” Andrew told the coward, all of the anger inside of him, the anger and hate and some other sharp, cold emotion making his voice low and vicious. “You don’t get to say those words, Day. You don’t get to be ‘sorry’ or to apologize because you’re nothing but a _fucking dog_ for the men who did it to her. Who ordered that truck or whatever to hit her car hard enough to kill her.”

“-my god, I’m, I’m not-“

“ _Yes. You. Are_ ,” Andrew spat out. “And what’s worse than being their dog? You’re a fucking _rat_. How did they know to go after her, hmm?” Andrew had another drag on the cigarette as silence broke out over the phone. “How did they _know_ , Day? Nicky was a fucking given, he’s blood. He’s the only damn blood I have who would shed a tear if anything happened to me. But why didn’t they go after Luther or Maria, hmm? They’re blood, too, and they’re wide open.” Oh how _Andrew_ wouldn’t shed a tear if anything happened to those two, but why not go after family rather than a middle-aged psychiatrist he’d been ‘forced’ to see by court order? Whom he’d cut out of his life after he’d left Palmetto State?

“I… you have to understand,” Kevin said, and the pleading note in his voice made Andrew’s fingers crush the cigarette until it fell in pieces to the ground. “Riko kept _asking_ , and I don’t… I told him about Aaron,” for a moment Andrew’s breath seized in his throat, “that he hates you, that you can’t stand him, that there’s no use in doing anything to him.” Now there was an odd note in Kevin’s voice, a strain to it, and Andrew could tell that the coward was trying to tell him something. “But Riko… he kept _asking_.”

“So you gave him Bee,” Andrew said, drawing a conclusion from what Kevin wasn’t saying in case the line wasn’t secure; Riko bearing down on Kevin, all psychotic smile and smugness that the coward would give in eventually because that was what Kevin did – give in. And Kevin? Number two Kevin Day? He may have spared Aaron, may have spared the young man whom he’d lived with for four years, his former teammate, but he’d given up a name all the same. Not Wymack, not their former coach for some odd reason – Andrew had never understood why Kevin had gone to the man even if Wymack had studied with Day’s mother. Not Abby, because she’d been the one to put Kevin’s hand back together, had put _Kevin_ back together quite a few times. But Bee? Bee was fair game because Kevin only had a use for her twice a year.

Andrew had wanted answers, and he’d gotten them. “Is it worth it? All that fame? The gold medal? Is it worth it to forever be in a murderer’s shadow? To know you sold not only your soul but your dignity as well?” Andrew asked as he turned around to face the townhouse; he saw Abram watching him through the french doors, and noticed that his friend held two mugs in his hands.

“I – I didn’t know he’d kill her, honest,” Kevin said, his voice raw with something. Maybe grief. Maybe it was even for Bee, but probably for the coward himself, for the mess he’d gotten himself into. “Just, just do something to get your attention.”

“Oh Day, not even you are that blind. You’ve known what the Moriyamas are for _years_ , and you went back to them of your own free will. All so you could play your precious game. I hope it’s worth it.” As he spoke, Andrew headed back to the townhouse.

Now there was a spark of anger, of indignation from the coward – probably from taunting him about Exy. “I tried to warn you, dammit! I told you to leave London, to get away from Nathaniel. All of this will stop if you just-“

“No,” Andrew said, unwilling to listen any longer. “Some of us don’t run, Day. Some of us aren’t cowards. Tell your master that he did indeed get my attention, and now I’m going to enjoy sending his people back to him in pieces. He likes to play games? Well, here’s a sports analogy for him. Trying to take Abram away was strike one. Hurting Nicky was strike two. Bee? Oh, now he’s definitely out, and it’s my turn.” Then he hung up on the coward as he opened the door to go inside.

Abram arched an eyebrow as he handed over what smelled to be a mug of spiked coffee. “That sounded very….”

“Impressive?”

“I was going to say a bit clichéd, to be honest. Like it came from one of those movies you made me watch.” Abram stepped back to let Andrew through the door. “I’m coming for you, and your little dog too,” he intoned in a deep, monotone voice.

Andrew cast a narrow look at the idiot. “What, you’re cheating on me already? We never saw that movie together.”

“Damn, my secret’s out.” Abram shrugged as he led the way to the living room so he could sit down on the loveseat. “One of Riko’s people, I assume?”

“You could say that.” Andrew sipped his coffee while he went over to the fireplace, feeling the need to light something on fire just then. “Kevin Day.”

“Yes, I would say that.” Abram frowned for some reason as he went to retrieve his laptop while Andrew spent an enjoyable minute or two playing with fire. When Abram came back, he set the laptop down on the coffee table and began to type on it. “I assume there was a reason for you calling him?”

Andrew finished off the rest of the coffee before he spoke up, his attention focused on the mug. “He gave Riko Bee’s name. There had to be a reason why they targeted her when I haven’t spoken to her in so long, and he’s it.”

“Ah.” Abram continued to type and click for about a minute. “Is there a possibility of him turning over more names?”

The question made Andrew look up and shake his head. “No, I don’t think so. He was implying that he gave them Bee to make Riko leave Aaron alone.” Andrew jumped to his feet and twisted around to throw the mug into the fire, which made one of the logs roll a bit in the large, open hearth. “The fucking coward, does that make it better?”

“Everyone has their justifications. Den probably told himself it was all right to hurt Bren and betray me because it saved his sister’s life, even though the Moriyamas likely would have killed her in the end, if she already wasn’t dead. Tasse and his people probably believed it was fine to sell out the family because they were going for better opportunities for themselves.” Abram gave a slight shrug. “I tell myself that this is really the only life for me, that I never would have had a normal one, not with my parents, not with… there was no other option. And the people I hurt deserve it.” Things were quiet for a couple of seconds, other than the crackling of the fire, and then he let out a slow breath and resumed typing. “Some justifications are better than others.”

Andrew left the fireplace to sit down next to his idiot. “He went back to Riko and Tetsuji when Wymack and I broke him free and clear, just so he could sign with one of the best pro teams in the nation. So he could be a starting striker. He didn’t have the balls to continue playing on a team that was building itself up once I told him I wasn’t going to join him. I think his justifications are rather weak.” That said, he leaned forward to see what was on Abram’s laptop. “What are you doing?”

“Giving you something in case Day proves to be a problem in the future.” Abram continued to dig through what seemed to be a labyrinth of files for a little longer. “You’re aware that Kevin Day’s mother was Irish, yes?”

“Kaleigh Day, cofounder of Exy. Might have heard that fact once or twice.” Andrew gave his friend an annoyed look as he sank back in the loveseat, his arms folded over his chest. “Get to the point.”

“Ah yes, there’s that patience of yours, truly a wondrous virtue,” Abram remarked as he pulled up a document. “She was Irish, and despite having a cousin who was a good friend, Tetsuji Moriyama was named Kevin’s godfather and raised the child, without ever allowing Kevin to return to his mother’s home after her death.”

There had to be a point to this. “Speed this up, I’m not in the mood for story-time, especially about Day,” Andrew said.

“Again, _patience, hon_ ,” Abram drawled. “Kayleigh Day’s cousin, Siobhan Murray, was quick to leave Dublin after her cousin’s death. One could say she was almost desperate.” That made Andrew sit up and look at the computer screen once more. “Desperate enough to make her way to London and spend the little bit of money she had saved up for a new identity.”

“And why would she want that?” Despite himself, Andrew was interested.

“Because she didn’t believe Kayleigh’s death was an accident, not when her cousin was such a careful driver, not when Tetsuji was so quick to show up to take Kevin away.”

Another car accident. Wasn’t that suspicious? Especially when Andrew knew how easy it was to arrange them. “How do you know all of this?”

“Because the person she went to for the new identity was an associate of the family, and when he mentioned it to Uncle Will? All Uncle Will needed to know about was the connection to Kayleigh Day and Tetsuji, and he arranged for Murray to have that identity and enough money to start a new life as long as she told him everything he wanted to know.” Abram toyed with a strand of his hair as he spoke. “This was before – well, things were already bad enough with my mum that my uncles were hoping to find something on my father and the Moriyamas to help get her out of there.”

“And what did they find out?” From the looks of it, the document on the screen was something about blood typing.

“Nothing too incriminating on Tetsuji, unfortunately – it seems that Kayleigh had no idea what the man was into, hence her making him Kevin’s guardian. But there was the fact about Kevin’s real father.” Abram smiled when Andrew looked away from the screen and at him. “That Kayleigh had slept with an American who came to her to learn Exy and had become pregnant, yet she lied to him about him being the father. She even dragged Siobhan into things and had her cousin back her up, to tell the man that he wasn’t her only lover.”

“You know who his father is,” Andrew said as his suspicions began to form.

“Yes. You know the man quite well.”

“Shit.” Andrew scrubbed at his face before he looked at the screen again. “It’s Wymack?”

“So Siobhan Murray claimed, and his time in Ireland backs it up. They’ve the same blood-type, too, though we would need to get a sample from both of them to be a hundred percent certain.”

“No, it makes sense. I’d always wondered why Day went to Palmetto after Riko damaged his hand, and it wasn’t just because of me,” Andrew said. “He could have gone to USC and they’d have taken him in and kept him safe.” The coward had a hell of a lot more respect for the Trojans than he ever had for the Foxes, that was certain. Yet he stuck it out at PSU until he graduated, had put up with a ‘sub-par’ team and never getting to the final round of the championships.

All that time, and he never told Wymack the truth. Such a fucking coward. How would the ‘great’ Kevin Day react if Andrew threatened to call Wymack up and let him know that his own son had come to him, allowed him to go into debt to buy out of the Ravens’ contract then went crawling back to Riko Moriyama after that prick had badmouthed the man’s precious Foxes, had tormented the school for the three years that Day had been there – and never once told him the simple fact that Day was his son?

Someone better keep their mouth shut.

“That could cause quite a scandal,” Andrew said as he stood up. “Wymack’s still paying off the loans he took out to break Day’s contract with Edger Allen.” True, Day had offered to pay him back once he joined the pros, especially once he’d gotten on the same team as Riko, but at that point Wymack was so disgusted with him he turned down the offer. “And Day’s done nothing but badmouth the Foxes since joining the Barons.” Probably because Riko told him to do it, still bitter over Day leaving the Ravens for what had been the worst team in Class I Exy at the time. “For the media to find out he’s done that to his own _father_? So much for his precious image.”

Abram followed him into the kitchen and poured himself some more tea while Andrew went straight to the whiskey. “Will you use it now?”

“No.” Andrew was tempted, but Day was keeping Aaron safe. He shouldn’t have given up Bee like that and so Andrew would tell Renee the truth, assured that she would figure out a way to make Kevin Day pay in some form or another. For a good ‘Christian Girl’, she understood that there were some things you didn’t forgive, and she could be downright vicious without the knives if given due cause. Bee’s death? Oh yes, that would be due cause enough.

He held up the glass of whiskey for a moment and watched the golden liquid swirl about for a few seconds. “But it’s always good to know something that’ll hurt someone who deserves it,” he said before he tossed back the liquor. As he wiped his lips dry, something occurred to him. “Will you get into trouble for showing that to me?”

Abram shook his head. “I’ll let Uncle Stuart know I shared it with you, so it won’t be a surprise to the family if it ‘leaks’. In the end, it’s an old bit of information and it’s not a direct strike at the Moriyamas. It’s something we’ve kept as a ‘just in case’, but it’s too small to do any real damage to the main branch.”

“It might get people looking into Kayleigh’s death,” Andrew argued.

“Which will probably blow back onto Tetsuji, if anyone. That would cause the most damage, but it’s what, twenty years now?” Abram blew into his mug of tea. “I wish I had faith in that people would care, but I’ve seen too many other scandals like that blow over if big enough names are attached to them. Tetsuji and Riko are those big names, as is Kevin.”

The shame of it? Abram wasn’t saying anything but the truth; the reasons why Andrew loathed humanity were many, but that right there was a prime example of why the species deserved his contempt. A woman was dead, her legacy reduced to some stupid spirit award – she had been an equal partner in creating Exy, yet it was _Tetsuji_ who was considered the genius, the _Master_ , his nephew #1, while women struggled to be taken seriously as players.

Kevin would still care, Andrew was willing to bet, about Wymack and everyone else finding out the truth about his paternity, and he just might care to know that his mother’s death hadn’t been an accident. Perhaps that would grow a spine in him at least. Andrew would just have to wait until the right time to play his hand.

Once again, Andrew set the whiskey aside and went back to the living room; he had some messages he had to send out, and Nicky should be getting back to him soon with the information about Bee. He couldn’t attend her funeral, but she deserved some sort of recognition from him, at the least. She definitely deserved some revenge.

Jamie better come through with those ex-Ravens soon.

*******

“Fuck, but he’s in a rare mood today, isn’t he?”

Abram gave a slight shrug as he continued to watch Andrew ‘work’ on the former Ravens dealer. “What do you expect? It’s personal for him this time.”

Stuart gave Abram a considering look at that. “You think it’s a good idea to let him do this, then?”

“I think he’s going to do it regardless,” Abram admitted, and then sighed. “Don’t tell me you’ve never done this,” he argued. “That you never handed over people to me or the others to help get us past – to help.”

“Yeah,” Stuart said as he once more turned his attention back to Andrew. “But he’s a bit too cold right now. I’m not seeing the anger.”

No, but the thing with Andrew was that he rarely let the anger out; he kept it pushed down deep inside most of the time, kept it contained. Even the short outbursts he made now and then were probably just the tip of the iceberg, so to speak, and Abram had the impression that it wouldn’t be pretty, when Andrew let loose.

Still, in order to appease his uncle, he pushed away from the wall he’d been leaning against and went over to his friend, mindful not to approach Andrew from a blind spot. “You need to pause a little more to give her a chance to catch her breath,” he said in Mandarin. “You’re not pacing yourself tonight.”

Andrew backed away from the sobbing woman and flicked blood off of the knife he held in his right hand. “Did I ask for your opinion?” he said in the same language.

“No, but you’re getting it anyway.” Abram allowed his gaze to flicker over at Stuart, who had just lit a cigarette and was scowling at both of them, probably for speaking in a language he couldn’t understand. “What do you want here? We’ve gotten a list of names. We have a source for their passports, some leads to follow. I’m not certain that there’s more.”

“I want to _be_ certain,” Andrew said, his tone as cold as Abram had ever heard it.

“All right,” Abram sighed. “Then what do you need? Coffee? Biscuits? Something more than that? You’ve already been at this for a while.” When the stubborn prat didn’t answer, Abram hummed a little. “Think of her – you standing there drinking, maybe eating while she watches.”

That got Andrew to look at him again. “You do that often?”

Abram offered him a thin smile. “I know what it feels like.” He fought not to rub at his wrists right then, to run his fingers over an arm band to reassure himself as he remembered lying on that horrible bed in so much pain and his throat burning, it was so dry, while Nicholai Popescu drank some cheap beer no more than a meter or so away. “Trust me, it’s good to shake things up.”

Andrew studied him for a few seconds, enough to make Abram feel uncomfortable, then nodded. “It did work with Drake, now that I remember. Have someone run out for coffee and sandwiches.” He said that last bit in English and in a loud voice, which made the woman, Theresa, start crying even harder.

“About damn time,” Stuart said before waving at Ollie. “Go get us a bunch of coffee and something to eat, all right?”

“A double mocha, as big as they have,” Abram said as he stepped away, “and a couple of cheese sandwiches.” That provoked a pleased grunt from Andrew as he went back to cutting some sort of intricate pattern into the woman’s left arm, and a look of disbelief from Stuart while Ollie nodded before leaving the warehouse.

“See, this is what I’ve been telling you,” Davis said as he gave Stuart a nudge in the side. “You gotta pay attention to the little things if you want it to work out. Know what they like and don’t like.”

“I will shoot you if you say another word,” Stuart muttered, which just made Davis laugh.

Meanwhile, Abram decided maybe it would be a good thing to stay away from his uncle for a while and to watch over Andrew some more. When he re-approached the two Americans, the woman whimpered and stared at him with bleary eyes. “Puh-please. I don’… make him stop.”

Abram hated it when they begged, as if a few words would make everything they’d done and all they’d intended to do all right. He could still remember his mother and how she’d never begged for a thing, other than for his father to stop hurting him. Even then, it had been a half begging, half cajoling thing when she’d turned her husband’s anger onto her, had taken the blows and the cuts onto herself while a young Abram - a young Nathaniel - had huddled in pain and watched.

No, he couldn’t stand such pathetic begging.

“Then tell him everything he wants to know,” he said with a slight smile as he stood next to his friend while pulling out his cigarettes. “It’s simple, really. Tell him everything and the pain ends.” Because she’d be dead, but better sooner rather than later.

She sobbed some more while Abram lit the cigarette; he held up the pack to Andrew, who shook his head while he motioned with his bloodstained hands. Abram sighed and, after getting the stick going, held it up to Andrew’s lips so he could have a couple of quick drags.

“Bloody hell,” Stuart muttered.

“See, the _little things_!” Davis cackled, right before making a sound of pain.

“Thanks, _babe_ ,” Andrew drawled as smoke drifted out of his mouth.

“You’re welcome, _hon_.” Abram held the cigarette cradled near his face to help block out the unpleasant stench coming from the ex-Raven. He stared at her for a moment, then went over to her purse to look through it. After examining the contents, something occurred to him. “Ravi?”

“Yes, sir?” The enforcer stepped forward in a hurry from his position behind the woman.

“Where did you find her?”

“Around Old Street outside of Clerkenwell.”

“Near the one betting shop?” he asked as he held up a napkin from a local coffee shop that was close to said betting shop.

“Yes.”

Andrew tapped his knife against his knuckles as he gave Abram a bored look, while the woman took to shaking her head. “You going to share with the class?”

“Ask your friend what she was doing at the betting shop,” he told Andrew in English, then spoke in Mandarin. “Why send three ex-players here, hmm? Yes, they’re loyal to their dear ‘master’, but they know sports, at least one of them. Wouldn’t that be helpful in a country with legalized betting? If you wanted to figure out a way to get a piece of all those billions?”

Andrew’s hazel eyes narrowed for a moment. “Does the family have a cut?”

Abram smiled a little. “Not everyone likes to pay the taxes or to do things by the books.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Andrew seemed to think on the matter a little and then nodded to Abram. "Explain."

Suspecting that his friend wanted to know more about the betting and not some more on how Abram had come to the conclusion on why Tetsuji had sent his ex-players to London, Abram began to explain in English the system of the betting shops, of the casinos and lotteries, how the government had legalized things over the various years. Since he knew what would happen to the woman, he even explained how his family fit into everything, their take on the system, with Stuart elaborating from time to time. That was when Ollie returned with the food and drinks.

When he was done, Andrew nodded again and then went to wash his hands so he could have his cheese sandwiches, which he ate while standing less than a meter away from the quietly sobbing ex-Raven with a contemplative expression on his face. Abram sipped his black coffee while he watched on, while Andrew broke up the sandwiches into bite-sized pieces and the woman, Theresa, glanced at him through her matted black hair with something akin to despair in her eyes. She'd been in the warehouse for the better part of a day, so she had to be hungry, had to be _thirsty_ ; it was one more way to break her down, seeing the two of them stand there with their refreshments.

Andrew let the last bit of his sandwich fall to the ground, which the woman stared at in disbelief, before he held out his hand to Abram. "Drink."

"You're welcome, _hon_ ," Abram said as he handed over the coffee-flavored hot chocolate. Hazel eyes flickered his way for a moment, before they resumed studying the ex-Raven while Andrew sipped the sweet drink.

"You have until I finish this to start talking," he told her in a calm manner. "I think you know about what."

She shook her head and wet her bruised, split lower lip. "I... I can't. He won't... I can't."

"Are you worried about your precious _Master_?" Andrew asked with a hint of a sneer as he tilted his head to the side. "Is that it? Or is it the deranged monster he raised? Neither one is going to save you. They've already written you off. You're nothing to them, a pathetic little bird who couldn't make it at the Nest." He gave her a blank look and sipped his drink while she broke down once more. "I don't see Moreau or Day here, Ewing or Muldani," he continued in a bored tone in-between sips of his drink. "Thurman or Jacobs, any of the ones who made Court. Who are worth money to Tetsuji, who didn't break down and wash out. You did. You and Robertson and O'Connor. That's why he sent you here. That's why he's not going to care when I send you back in multiple small boxes - except he'll have to find more failures to send over in hopes to finish the job."

She was crying in earnest now. "No, we didn't- I didn't fuh... fail him. I cuh-can't," she stuttered out.

Andrew clicked his tongue as he held up his cup. "Last chance."

"I'm suh-sorry," she said in Japanese, which made Andrew glance at Abram. "Sorry, Master."

"Go in hard," Abram told his friend in Mandarin, and sighed when Andrew tossed the empty cup at him. "Prat."

He thought he caught a glimmer of amusement in Andrew's eyes before his friend turned back to the ex-Raven, all emotion wiped away in that frightening manner of his, eyes dead and face a blank mask as he reached for his knives. "One last time to fail, Brody. Then it's done. Tell me what I want."

Abram fell back to stand near his uncle once it was clear that Andrew had things under control, and nodded to Ollie when he took the empty cups from him.

"I'm just saying to think about Camilo, okay?"

"Ah, all right." Abram frowned at his uncle. "Why?" He'd met the man maybe half a dozen times - seemed nice, but he was one of those people who didn't appear to notice when he infringed on another's personal space. Plus, too tall. Abram got a crick in his neck looking up all the time. "We doing more business in Belgium again?"

Stuart smoothed his hand down the front of his suit while Davis groaned. "Just think you'd make a good... you know." Stuart refused to look at Abram. "He's not bad. His people respect him, he works hard, he keeps his word, he-

"He's in another country most of the time," Davis added as he gave Abram a lopsided smile. "And not a certain midget goth."

Oh for fuck's sake. "No. _No_ ," Abram repeated as he glared at his uncle. "Don't even try."

Now Stuart appeared churlish as he crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm just looking out for you, Ram. Think you can do better."

Why did this keep happening to him? Ignoring the screams in the background, Abram ran his hands through his hair as he thought about his mother hitting him while she yelled at him to keep away from the girls, as she told him that nothing good ever came out of trusting them, in letting anyone in close. Now his own uncle was meddling, was trying to find someone 'safe' for him, someone 'vetted' by the family and probably warned ahead of time what would happen if they crossed any 'lines'. "I don't want 'better'," he said, then sighed because that didn't come out right. "I have what I want, all right? Andrew is good for me. He understands me, okay?" He stared at his uncle and hoped that the man would accept that. “Just let this go, all right? I thought you agreed to let this go.”

Stuart continued to frown for a few more seconds before he shook his head, his expression now a bit guilty. “I worry about you, all right? Don’t want you with somebody who takes people apart and then comes home to you. It’s not good.”

Abram gave his uncle a weak smile. “But I take people apart, you know.”

“He has a – all right, then,” Davis said when Stuart scowled at him, hands held up in the air. “Family talk, eh?”

“You deserve someone who’ll look after you,” Stuart said once he looked away from his second in command.

That made Abram shake his head and smile a little more. “But you picked Andrew just for that reason.” When Stuart resumed frowning, he reached out to give his uncle a gentle pat on the shoulder. “Stop worrying so much, all right? He does a good job.”

Stuart looked like he wanted to argue some more, but huffed a little instead. Which was good, because Andrew’s deep voice rang out right then. “If you’re done with your little heart to heart, some of us have been busy working. She’s talking now.” He sounded a bit annoyed at the moment.

“About fucking time,” Stuart muttered as he pushed away from the wall. “Took you long enough.”

“Oh, look, is that a knife slipping from my hand and lodging itself in your throat somehow?” Andrew asked in a flat voice as he held up said knife. “Funny how those things happen.”

“Hilarious,” Abram said as he batted the knife away. “The betting shops, what’s going on?” he asked the trembling, bloody wreck of a woman even as he shook a cigarette free so he could light it and hold it out to Andrew’s lips, his friend’s hands a gory mess once more.

It took some time to get everything out of the ex-Raven, considering the shape she was in, and all the blood loss didn’t help, but it was enough to start putting the pieces together, to track down the two men Tetsuji and Ichiro had sent and probably others. It would put a hard stop to their attempt to weasel their way in yet again to the UK, to find a source of revenue that would support them as they drew people to them, made inroads with the local gangs, bribed the police and established a strong enough base to take on the Hatfords.

Once Stuart was satisfied, Andrew put the woman out of her misery and left instructions on what to do with her body, which were becoming familiar in the last couple of weeks. Abram hated making ‘statements’, but he feared that the Moriyamas wouldn’t react to anything short of just that – he knew his father certainly wouldn’t. Not after the man had made quite a few ‘statements’ in his time. Abram could still recall the way his father had butchered the one man at Evermore all those years ago.

He was more than happy to leave the warehouse once Andrew was cleaned up, to slump back in the leather seat of the McLaren and lose himself in his thoughts while Andrew drove home. Once there, he went into the kitchen and put on some tea, and found himself somewhat amused when Andrew pulled out a pint of ice cream. “You’re still hungry?”

“Those sandwiches weren’t much,” Andrew said as he fetched a spoon. “What, you’re not?”

“Not really.” While Abram didn’t have that much of an issue with what had happened, it didn’t mean he could go out and have a nice dinner afterwards; there were some people who deserved everything that happened to them, and some who had just made some incredibly stupid life choices. Theresa Brody was one of the latter, he suspected. “I can’t help but wonder… would I be like her if my mother hadn’t run.”

“Hmm?” Andrew paused with a spoonful of some ridiculously sweet ice cream in his mouth. “What, you mean all brainwashed?” he asked once the spoon was licked clean.

“I mean if I became a Raven,” Abram elaborated. “If I’d been left at Evermore.” If his father had managed to hand him over to Tetsuji after all, to the Moriyamas.

“Ah.” Andrew had some more ice cream. “You said you were pretty good at Exy.”

“Yes.”

Andrew eyed him up and down. “You’re fast, have good stamina and reflexes for all that you’re short as fuck.”

“Pot, please meet kettle,” Abram said with a mocking smile as he gave a slight bow, which earned him the middle finger.

“So, despite the fact that you’re a blithering idiot,” Andrew continued while scoping out more ice cream, “and a contrary bastard, you probably would have done well as a player. Sure Riko would have used you as a punching bag and all, but you’d probably get off on it, being masochistic.”

Oh yes, it was definitely a ‘spiked tea’ night. “Do you ever listen to words internally before they come out of your mouth? Because I’m willing to bet ‘no’.”

“You’re one to ask that question, _kettle_.”

Abram gasped on his way to fetch the Baileys. “Oh, wow, a second pet name. This is moving too fast for me. What’s next? Matching sweaters?” He ducked when the spoon was thrown at him. “Hmm, you’re right about those reflexes.”

“And you being a blithering idiot,” Andrew reminded him as he grabbed another spoon. “Such a shame you weren’t inflicted on Tetsuji and Riko, they so deserve you.”

“And I so wanted to hear that.” Abram sighed as he went back to fix his tea.

“Truth hurts.” Andrew had some ice cream while Abram measured out the tea leaves. “They would have fucked you up even more than you are now, yet you would have gone on to the pros and done your best to leave it all behind you. I can’t see you buying into that ‘Master’ bullshit, not a stubborn idiot like you.”

“Thank you, I think.” Abram summoned a wry smile as he rested against the counter. “But it’s all ‘what-ifs’ at that point.”

Andrew gave him a slight nod. “Exactly. So no sense in wallowing over it.”

“Oh for fuck’s – I’m not ‘wallowing’,” Abram gritted out as he went ahead and filled his mug with a good bit of Baileys while the tea steeped. “Just a bit of supposition.”

“Well stop it,” Andrew said while he scraped the pint clean. “There’s no point in it.”

Just like there was no point in arguing with a certain stubborn American, Abram was coming to realize. “And was there a point in what you did tonight?” Andrew’s back stiffened as he threw out the empty pint of ice cream. “Do you feel better now?”

Andrew was slow in turning around to face him. “I found out information that helped your family and that’ll hurt the Moriyamas. Of course there was a point to it.” He came over to stand in front of Abram, with only a hand’s breath separating them. “Did you feel better when you were done with the people who hurt your family?”

“I felt less rage, less impotence,” Abram admitted. “But my father, the Moriyamas themselves… they’re still out there. I know it’s not going to end until they’re gone.”

Andrew was quiet for several seconds after that. “Exactly. So what are we going to do about that?”

Abram held his gaze for a few rapid heartbeats before he turned to pour his tea. “Everything we’ve done lately has to have harmed them – even small cuts are effective when there’s enough of them.”

“And that’s going to make them very, very angry.” Andrew waited until he was done and then snatched away Abram’s mug, which, well, no big surprise, really. Abram sighed and fixed himself another one. “Perhaps enough to be all dramatic, to reach out in some manner.”

“How wonderful. Such a shame I don’t have any other beloved childhood mementos to arrive in the mail all mutilated,” Abram said, which earned him a flick to the forehead. “Your support is overwhelming.”

“I try, _babe_ , I try.”

“Hmm.” Abram took a long drink from his mug. “So what? They’ll do what they always do, a bit of taunting, a bit of threats, throw up some delightful nightmares from my past.”

Andrew drank his own tea while he seemed to mull on that; once he was finished, he set the mug down and then grabbed onto the counter on either side of Abram’s hips. “You’re rather certain on that, aren’t you?”

Abram sipped the last of his own tea. “You’re not getting any more free dinners out of me.” When Andrew’s eyes narrowed, he rolled his own. “Yes, I’m rather certain of it, _hon_.”

“Just what I wanted to hear.” Andrew leaned in a little closer. “How are your acting skills, _babe_?”

Abram had the feeling that he was going to need a lot more ‘tea’.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> Eeeeyyeeeaaah. I'm so, *so* sorry. Honestly. Did you see that coming? A little? It's a cruel life and someone had to die, the Moriyamas and Nathan play for keep. Andrew overlooked something when going over his 'list' with Abram and Stuart, and it came back to bite him. Even if he thought there was a logic for it.
> 
> I'm so sorry.
> 
> And yeah, poor Kevin. He needs some love right now, this version of him where he was never given a chance to grow a backbone.
> 
> Next chapter - something more than our boys 'questioning' people! I'm so excited!
> 
> Now to figure out the 'Sunday' fic post - try to get a proper chapter of the Necromancer!Andrew fic up, or maybe a WDWG side story featuring Carlton... hmm...
> 
> As always, the comments and kudos are greatly appreciated.  
> *******


	13. Gamblin' Man

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, I can honestly say that no one dies this chapter. Are you happy?
> 
> Well, no one dies on 'screen' (relax, it's no one you know, I'm just clarifying. Put away the pitchforks).
> 
> You get a lot of introspection and epiphanies and talking. Sheesh. We're getting sappy now.
> 
> Oh, and maybe a little plotting. A little. I figured I had to throw some in.
> 
> Once again, many thanks to Huntwodh for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> *******

*******

Abram hadn’t considered his life perfect by any means, but there had been a sort of rhythm to it, an almost pattern. Even with the introduction of Andrew into it, he could almost expect how most of his week would go; translating and checking various numbers for Jamie and Uncle Will, maybe being called in for a couple of interrogations.

Now? It seemed that he was rarely at the townhouse, barely spent any time bent over a computer but instead was standing in some warehouse or converted old building or wherever else he’d been told to go, either by Jamie or Uncle Stuart. Sometimes to watch over Andrew as his friend took apart the Moriyamas’ people, and sometimes to pick apart those who’d had the misfortune to attract Lloyd’s attention.

His dreams had been filled with blood the last couple of nights, and for once they didn’t center around that horrid apartment in North Tottenham or his mother. No, they were of dark, cavernous rooms and a knife in his hand, of him approaching a dirt-smeared mirror to see his father staring back at him.

Abram knew there was a reason behind what they were doing. Knew that they were hoping to prevent more deaths by bloodying their hands. But sometimes it felt as if he and Andrew were becoming the enemy in an attempt to defeat them.

Then Nicky called about Betsy Dobson’s funeral to let Andrew know that Abby Winfield had cried when she asked him to pass along her appreciation for the flowers and Andrew’s insistence in paying for everything, that many of ‘Bee’s’ former patients had attended the memorial. It was the reminder that Abram needed, of the one very important line he and his family refused to cross, as well as Andrew; no innocents. Abram couldn’t lay claim to many virtues and he was guilty of a long list of sins, but he had never willingly harmed an innocent other than some petty thievery and lies.

He’d gotten a somewhat decent night’s sleep for once, probably more to do from exhaustion than anything else, and after putting on a pot of coffee went to jog a couple of miles on the treadmill since Andrew had flat out insisted on no morning runs until after they received their ‘call’. As much as Abram looked forward to running in the early spring weather, he was in no hurry to see how the Moriyamas or his father responded to having several of their people captured and - well, how they responded by giving them an easy target.

Not that Abram was at all eager to hear from either the Moriyamas or his father – especially his father. The last two messages from the bastard had been more than enough.

Jogging on the treadmill wasn’t as good as running out in the city, with the changing scenery helping to distract Abram from his thoughts, so he stopped after a couple of miles and went back to his bedroom so he could shower and put on a sweatshirt and cotton pants for the day. Since Andrew still wasn’t up, he settled on omelets for breakfast, and had just finished making all of them when his friend came downstairs.

Abram was going to say that it was one of Andrew’s ‘dark’ days, judging from the lack of emotions on the American’s face and the way he didn’t even greet Abram. Considering that it had been Betsy Dobson’s funeral the day before, he wasn’t surprised, not really, so he set the cheese and jalapeno omelets down on the island along with a mug of sweetened coffee, then got out of the way in case Andrew wanted any whisky added to the hot beverage.

Andrew sat down to eat his breakfast, and once he was finished got up to fetch a bottle of whisky before leaving, all without saying a word. Abram picked up the dirty dishes to wash them then ate his own breakfast, and assumed he wouldn’t see much of his friend for the day unless they got called out by Jamie or Stuart. Since they had tracked down all of the known leads in the last few days, Abram was hoping for some ‘quiet’ time.

He got part of his wish – Bren stopped by to drop off some documents and recordings that Lloyd wanted Abram to review, which of course took top priority over anything that Jamie might need since the agent had helped them with the ex-Ravens. Abram was a bit annoyed at how Lloyd had managed to get him to do some work after all, but it was senseless to allow the anger to stew for very long when it had been a necessary debt to protect his family and better he pay it than someone else. After all, it was his fault the Moriyamas were targeting his family in the first place, so if Lloyd or the MI6 figured out a way to get their hooks in anyone for all of this, it should be Abram.

Since Andrew had been eating sandwiches the last few nights, something quick and easy to grab while one was ‘busy’, Abram had Bren pick up pasta again – especially since he knew Andrew would eat it even if in one of his moods. The enforcer was unusually solemn when he dropped it off. “He still being all emo?”

Despite everything, Abram smiled a little. “Are you trying to get yourself stabbed?”

Bren shrugged. “Eh, thought it might cheer him up a little, if he overheard it. He does enjoy an excuse to get all stabby.”

“Not quite.” Abram saved the last file he’d been working on and disconnected the portable hard drive so Bren could take it back to Jamie. “And no.” He hesitated for a moment, but it wasn’t really a secret. “The psychiatrist was buried yesterday.”

“Eh? Thought it would have been a couple of days ago,” Bren said as he tucked the hard drive into an inner pocket of his coat with care.

“Apparently, they wanted to give enough time for people to attend the service,” Abram explained. “She worked with a lot of student athletes, including some who went on to professional teams.” From the little Andrew had told him, back when he’d still been talking, Abby Winfield had been inundated by calls from Dobson’s former patients. Abram still couldn’t imagine wanting to talk to a psychiatrist, let alone forming such a close bond with someone who analyzed everything about you, but it appeared that Betsy Dobson had left deep impressions on quite a few people’s lives.

She’d definitely left one on Andrew’s.

“Well, here’s hoping he’s better soon. It just doesn’t feel right, coming here and not being threatened.” Bren waved to Abram as he stepped away from the kitchen island.

“Speaking of psychiatrists…,” Abram told the man, which made Bren laugh while he left the townhouse.

Andrew would have gotten the alert about the alarm being disengaged, along with Bren stopping by right before it happened, so he came downstairs soon after the enforcer left. His expression was still too blank for Abram’s liking, but his eyes weren’t as dead as they’d been that morning and he didn’t fetch another bottle of whisky when he grabbed his pasta and garlic bread.

Abram had done everything he could at the moment for his friend, and hoped that Andrew would be better the next day, would have fought past whatever darkness was engulfing him at the moment. He’d been there himself too many times and still had days like the current one, and knew how much he hated it whenever Stuart or Bren or the others hovered around him, asked him questions or pushed him to ‘open up’. He would make sure that Andrew knew he wasn’t alone, that he had food and someone if he needed another presence around, but Andrew had been fighting this battle a long time. He knew best what he needed, not Abram.

The next day started off much like the previous one had, except when Abram returned to the kitchen after his shower, he found Andrew there waiting impatiently with all the ingredients set out for what looked to be another frittata. “Seriously?” Abram asked as he ran his fingers through his damp hair.

Andrew held out his phone. “Potato, cheese and jalapenos. Now.”

Abram stared at it for several seconds. “Fuck you.” Since when had he become the rude prat’s personal servant?

Andrew merely clicked his tongue as he set the phone down on the counter. “Not now, _babe_. Breakfast first. Get to it.”

“I don’t….” Abram made a sound of pure frustration while the demon in human flesh who was his roommate poured himself some coffee. “That doesn’t sound remotely good!”

“I don’t see you cooking.”

“See this, you lazy, inconsiderate prat,” Abram said as he held his fingers out in a rude gesture, before snatching up the new skillet to slam it down on the stove top. Should have slammed it onto the damn phone instead, he told himself as he went through every Russian insult he knew for his ‘dear’ friend, and then started working through other languages while he cooked breakfast. All the while, Andrew stared at him with an even expression and sipped coffee.

Bloody hell, the damn frittata turned out decent that time, too.

“Maybe I should consider Camilo,” Abram muttered as he dumped the skillet in the sink. Over at the island, Andrew paused in his breakfast.

“Camilo?”

Abram merely shrugged at the question and finished washing up the mess from… whatever the hell it had been, him making Andrew something to eat. Yes, he normally enjoyed cooking because it made him feel like he was doing something constructive, was contributing to the home they had cobbled together and not relying on Andrew for everything. Because he noticed that sometimes it helped, Andrew having that breakfast waiting for him in the morning. But since when did it turn into something like this? To Andrew almost taunting him and… and… and he didn’t even know what, to be honest. What was going on, what he was doing, what was he trying to figure out? Andrew kept pushing and he kept going along with it, much like he did with so many other things.

He wanted Andrew to be happy. He wanted Andrew to be better, to feel good, so he just… he just went along.

Like he always did.

_Fuck_.

Abram stared into the sink as voices filled his head – some harsh, some cajoling, some mocking, some quiet. He felt his mother’s long, narrow fingers yanking on his hair and slapping him on the face, felt Jain’s thicker fingers on his chin to lift it up, on his shoulders to push him down, felt nails digging in and-

A light touch along his right shoulder made him gasp and shove away from the sink as he fumbled for his arm band, his heart thundering inside his chest as he stared at Andrew. His friend took a slow step back, his hand dropping to his side as he gazed at Abram in return, his expression shifting from stunned into something neutral.

“Wuh-what?” Abram choked out.

Andrew regarded him for a couple of seconds then, his motions still slow, reached over to turn off the running water. “I asked you ‘what about Camilo’?”

“What?” Abram repeated as he tried to make sense out of the question when there was so much else clawing at him.

Now Andrew’s expression was a touch annoyed. “You said ‘maybe I should consider Camilo’.” His eyes narrowed when Abram’s breath hitched. “Didn’t your uncle mention him a couple of weeks ago?”

“Yes,” Abram admitted. “And it was just a pathetic joke.” He let out a slow breath in an effort to regain control over his emotions then shook his head. “Just forget it.”

“More like a terrible joke.” Andrew studied Abram a little longer then folded his arms over his chest. “What’s bothering you?”

“Nothing,” Abram said as he tugged down the sleeves of his sweatshirt. “You just startled me.” He’d decided that he’d had enough for the time being and picked up his phone so he could go to his bedroom for a while – maybe the rest of the day, even. Andrew wasn’t the only one who needed some ‘alone’ time now and then.

He barely got out of the kitchen before something else was said. “You didn’t eat anything.”

“I’m not hungry.” Abram wasn’t in the mood to be coddled and put a bit of heat behind the words.

“You’re not the one who has to deal with-“

Abram spun around to glare at Andrew. “I said, I am _not hungry_.”

That earned him another assessing look for a few seconds, before Andrew sighed. “Well, I hope you’re hungry later, because unless we’re busy with ‘work’, you’re taking me out to dinner.”

“Fine,” Abram said. “We’ll go out. Nothing in our agreement about me having to eat,” he argued, just to be obstinate.

For a moment it looked as if Andrew wanted to say something, but then he must have thought better of it because he merely headed for the french doors as if to have a cigarette out in the back garden. That was fine with Abram, since it meant he could finally go upstairs.

Once there, he locked the door behind him then curled up on his bed, where he thought about his… whatever with Andrew. Where he went over everything they’d done together that he could recall, all of his actions and reactions in an attempt to judge just how bad it was – how bad _he_ was. How bad he was fucking things up.

He didn’t blame Andrew, not when his friend was doing what he could to ensure that he didn’t cross any lines or trigger any issues. When he gave Abram every chance to say ‘no’. Even with the attitude that morning, Abram could have said ‘no’ and that would have been it – he just had to mean it. Abram realized that a lot of times, Andrew provoked him for the sake of provoking him, to prod him into feeling and fighting back.

So did Abram give in because there was no way he was going to do anything but give in, or because he knew that it was all really just a game? At least, it was between him and Andrew – he wasn’t going to think about Jain and – focus on him and Andrew.

Feeling drained and confused, he picked up his phone and made a call. As soon as it went through, he spoke. “How fucked up am I?”

“Ah, all right, have you been drinking already today, Ram?”

“I’m serious, how fucked up would you say I am?” he asked Jamie. “I really want to know.”

She let out a long sigh on the other end of the line then was quiet for almost a minute. “All right, I’ll go along with this. You’re maybe… a six out of ten? Some days a seven.”

Wonderful, three steps away from a full psycho. “Thank you,” he told her.

“Ram… you were even worse when you first showed up, you know. I’d say you were a seven all the time, and after… well, you were an eight, some days a nine. You’re getting better, really.” Jamie fell quiet for a minute. “None of us are ‘all there’, to be honest, it’s this world, the job. But as much as Dad and Uncle Stuart love her, Aunt Mary didn’t do you any favors, and… uhm….”

“And there’s my father,” he finished for his cousin. There were the years in Baltimore, in that house with Nathan Wesninski and Lola and the others. Being held captive by the Popescu cousins had been the icing on the cake, so to speak.

“What brought this on? Did, did those bastards reach out to you? Was there another package?” Jamie’s voice took on a sharp edge. “Do I need to send something back to them?”

That startled a weak chuckle from him. “Think we’ve been sending enough packages to them,” he said as he rubbed at his eyes. “No, I just had… I don’t know, some sort of epiphany this morning or something. Do you think I let people walk all over me?”

“You? _Hell no_ ,” Jamie said in an instant, which made him feel a bit better. “You’re one of the most stubborn bastards I know.”

“Okay, maybe that’s not the right way to put it, then.” He sat up on the bed, his back against the pillows, and tried to think about what he wanted to say. “Am I too accommodating?”

Now Jamie was quiet for a minute or two. “I think you worry too much about others before you do about yourself,” she admitted. “I think you could benefit from being a bit more selfish, little cousin. Maybe put yourself first for once and let us fend for ourselves some more. Maybe you’d get down to a five if you weren’t tearing yourself to pieces for the family, in all honestly,” she said, her voice quiet yet sincere.

He felt something tighten in his chest upon hearing her words, felt his scalp tingle from the feel of imaginary fingers yanking on his hair, his cheeks heat up from imaginary slaps. Heard his mother tell him to keep pushing on, to ignore the pain, the exhaustion, the hunger because he was fine, he was _fine_ , and he couldn’t slow them down. Couldn’t slow her down and put them at risk. He had to keep moving, keep giving up everything for their safety. Had to be quiet and good and lie and smile and-

“ _Ram_? Ram, are you still there?”

“Yuh-yeah,” he told his cousin. “I am.”

“Look, I don’t know what brought this all on, but I’m… I’m grateful for it. I’m glad you’re asking these questions because I want you to be happy,” Jamie told him, her voice thick with emotion. “So please, listen to me. Start thinking about yourself some more, okay? Be selfish. Be so fucking selfish I want to strangle you.” She laughed a little at that. “You deserve it, Ram. You really do.”

He thought about that a little. “And if me being selfish is me wanting to take over the family?”

Jamie was quiet again for about a minute. “If you really think you’re the best man for it, then prove it to me.”

He scoffed at that. “Too much work, I don’t want it.” Plus, he could only imagine how much bitching he’d put up with from Andrew.

She laughed for a few seconds. “Be selfish but not stupid, right? That’s why I love you, little cousin.”

“Thank you,” he told her, not sure he’d gotten what he’d wanted out of the call but appreciating her honesty all the same.

“You’re welcome. Whatever this is about, I hope it’s better now.”

“I’m not sure,” he admitted. “But I think it helps.”

As if sensing that he’d had enough ‘honesty’ for the time being, she told him that they were chasing down the last of the leads they’d gotten from the ex-Ravens along with a couple of ‘tasks’ from Lloyd, and probably wouldn’t have a need for him and Andrew for the next few days. Probably. Abram was content with that, considering how busy the last few had been, though imagined that his friend might have his own opinion on that.

He spent most of the day in his room, some of it soaking in the tub, some of it reading, but most of it thinking about things. About what he wanted, about what he needed to do to keep what he had. A little while before he figured when Andrew would want to go out to dinner, he went into the bathroom to get ready.

For so long, he had dyed his hair because of being on the run. There had been the contacts as well, all part of the disguise of hiding from his father. When he had called his uncle, he had continued it those first few months in an attempt to prevent the Moriyamas from figuring out that he had turned to the Hatfords for protection.

Afterwards… he hadn’t wanted his uncles to look at him and see the man who had killed their sister. But how much of it was also that Abram didn’t want to see his father in his own appearance? Didn’t want to see that detested visage? Andrew was right about a few things, damn him, and Abram’s issues were many and ran deep.

No one had said anything about him going without the contacts; Stuart and Jamie still looked him in the eyes. There was no more sense in hiding from the Moriyamas and definitely not his father. There was no sense in hiding from himself anymore, in twisting himself into knots to please everyone. Perhaps it was a small, silly thing, what he’d done all these years, but Abram was trying to build himself a true home for the first time, in standing on his own feet after having people look after him for so long. Nothing was really so ‘small’.

He forced himself to ignore the hint of red at his roots and finished getting ready.

Andrew looked up from the book he had been reading while sitting in his chair, already dressed in the black jeans and fitted sweater he would be wearing out for their dinner. He eyed Abram up and down in an almost clinical manner before setting the book aside and standing. “Here I was looking forward to dragging you out of your room.”

“It’s not the same as unglazed tiles and grout, but such a pain, getting blood out of pale carpet,” Abram remarked as he went over to the closet to fetch his coat.

“Who the hell decorated this place?”

Despite himself, Abram smiled as they went down to the garage. “Thinking of a new side business? ‘Work-safe houses, guaranteed. Clean-ups will be a breeze with our designs’.”

“Open floor plans so the bastards can’t sneak up on you, panic rooms on every floor,” Andrew added. “Pre-dug graves in the back yard.”

“Or convenient drums in the basement,” Abram offered. “Owner’s preference.”

Andrew seemed to consider it as they backed out of the garage. “Don’t want to deal with annoying customers.”

“Ah well, somehow I couldn’t see you talking about paint swatches and lighting fixtures,” Abram admitted. “Just not your style, _hon_.”

That remark earned him a rude gesture, to which Abram once again smiled. The rest of the drive to what turned out to be an expensive restaurant in Mayfair was quiet, but not uncomfortable.

The restaurant was French and _very_ high end and extremely popular, which made Abram wonder what strings Andrew had pulled (or had Jamie pull) to get them into the place on what seemed to be short notice. He also wondered if there was a point to it; Andrew did enjoy the occasional ‘fine’ restaurant on their nights’ out, but he usually seemed to pick the place on a whim, other than that first time. Tonight… tonight didn’t seem like a ‘whim’.

Still, Abram allowed his friend to order whatever he wanted, and settled on one of the recommended entrees for the night. He made sure to have some of the appetizer which Andrew had picked since he hadn’t eaten all day before he tried any of the wine, and ordered a salad as well. Andrew continued to regard him with a steady gaze for a minute before he rested his chin on his hand and spoke up. “Feeling better?”

“A little,” Abram admitted. “Had a few things to work out.”

“Do I need to worry when I take out the garbage?”

Abram reached over to pick up the butter knife and tapped it against the table a few times. “I think I’m beginning to see the root of a few of those issues of mine. Besides, you don’t take out the rubbish.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Andrew said as he grabbed the last of the mushroom and cheese tarts.

“Why ruin the surprise?” Abram smiled as he swirled around the wine in his glass.

Andrew stared at him for a few more seconds then rolled his eyes. “I’d hold on to that ‘better’ thing, _babe_.”

“I think we’re going to need more wine,” Abram told him.

The rest of the dinner went as they usually did, with good food (lots of it in Andrew’s case, Abram wondered about his friend’s metabolism) and a good bit of snark. After dessert (on Andrew’s part) and coffee (for them both), they finally got up to leave the restaurant while Andrew did something on his phone. As they walked away from the table, Andrew pulled Abram in close for a moment. “Just allow it to happen,” he murmured while pretending to straighten the collar of Abram’s coat.

Abram almost paused upon hearing that and asked what his friend had meant, but it had been too ingrained in him over the years to keep moving in situations like that, to not draw attention and just obey.

He didn’t have to wait long to find out what Andrew had meant, because once they got out to the lobby of the restaurant a familiar figure came out of the bar; as soon as Allison Reynolds caught sight of them, she stalked over to Andrew as fast as she could on rather tall stilettos, the artfully tattered hem of her black skirt flaring around her thighs.

“Minyard,” she called out, her voice thick with loathing. “I’ve a message for you.” She came right up to Andrew, who stared at her with obvious apathy the entire time. Several people were paying attention at that point, both because of how loud Reynolds was and her quick movement – and then because of her slapping Andrew across the face. “You bastard, you couldn’t even come to her funeral!”

Andrew moved after the slap, but only to motion to Abram to keep back. “I was busy,” was all he said to Reynolds.

“Too busy to pay your respect to the woman who gave a shit about you? _Fuck you_ , Minyard. You really are a monster,” Reynolds spat out, her beautiful face twisted with disgust. “Here’s a message for you from your fellow Foxes – fuck off, we’re through with you. You can’t show a bit of decency for once in your life? We don’t want anything to do with you.”

A slight sneer curled Andrew’s full lips. “It only took you how long to get the hint.” He looked over his shoulder at Abram. “Let’s go.”

Abram gave Reynolds a cold look before he followed his friend out of the restaurant, mindful of everyone’s gaping stares. They were quiet while they waited for the valet to bring around the McLaren, with Andrew giving a quick dab to his swollen mouth as the only concession to Reynolds’ actions.

Once they were in the ostentatious sports car and on the road, Abram cleared his throat. “Are you going to explain things now?”

Andrew tapped the pack of cigarettes resting on the middle console in an obvious manner, which made Abram grit his teeth even as he reached for them. Once he lit two sticks and handed one over to the asshole, Andrew let out a slow breath before he slipped the cigarette between his lips and inhaled deeply. He held the smoke in his lungs for a couple of seconds, and on his exhale he began to speak. “I’ve been talking to Renee about a few things lately.”

“Renee Walker,” Abram clarified.

“Yes.” Andrew drove another block or two before he continued. “Warned her to watch out for herself, and she’s pursuing something with Kevin Day on her end.” At Abram’s intent look, he shook his head. “Kevin has a couple of weaknesses that Renee’s going to hit – more like her adopted mother, Stephanie, and fellow colleagues.” At Abram’s continued stare, he gave a slight smile. “Stephanie Walker is a reporter.”

“Ah, then I imagine she has some interesting resources at her disposal. I hope she’s careful.” While being a reporter should give her some protection, anyone who caused the Moriyamas too much grief would be dealt with in the end.

“Renee wouldn’t risk Stephanie like that,” Andrew said as he maneuvered around a slow-moving bus. “It won’t be anything too damaging to the Moriyamas, but something that might get Kevin out of their grasp for a little while and cause him some discomfort at the same time.”

Abram was tempted to ask, but decided to let the matter lie for the time being. “And tonight? That was a rather public display. Am I to take it the two of you worked out something to discourage the Moriyamas and my father from going after the rest of the Foxes?”

“Perhaps you’re more than just a pretty face.” Andrew flicked the ash from his cigarette outside the car as he stared at the road ahead. “It didn’t take much to convince Reynolds to go along with tonight’s little drama.”

For a moment, Abram felt a rush of anger for his friend, for the thought that there might have been some truth behind Reynolds’ performance earlier. Andrew had stayed away from Dobson’s funeral for the sake of his former teammates, even though it was clear to Abram that he wished to be there to pay respect to his former psychiatrist – no, Dobson had been more than that. _Bee_ had been more than that. Yet if there was any hope in proving that Day had been wrong in claiming that Dobson had meant anything to him, he couldn’t run off to the States just to attend her funeral – that and make a wonderful target of himself.

“Well, I’m certain there were more than enough witnesses for it tonight,” Abram said instead. “Between that and you beating up Boyd-Wilds, they should accept that you don’t want anything to do with your former teammates.” That Andrew had only associated with them at the end of the last year because of Nicky.

“They better.” There was a slight twitch to Andrew’s jaw for a moment before he flicked the remains of his cigarette through the window, then reached for Abram’s since he was just holding it near his face. “I highly doubt I can lure one of the more annoying bastards to London so I can kill them as an example.”

“Yes, I imagine they’d be suspicious now, but there’s always Paris or Scotland,” Abram pointed out. “Though how would you let the others know without perjuring yourself?”

Andrew seemed to think about that for a moment. “There’s always Nicky.”

Somehow, Abram doubted that the man’s cousin would be pleased in becoming an accessory to the crime, but it might work the first time. “Let’s hope tonight’s act was convincing enough. Though I must say, it was amusing to see you be slapped,” he lied. “I wish I’d had my phone out for it, _hon_.”

“You can always walk home,” Andrew threatened, which Abram knew would never happen; only because Andrew would never allow him out of his sight for that long.

Despite the threat, they fell into a companionable silence for the rest of the way home, and once they were in the townhouse, hung up their coats and removed their shoes. Abram debated if he wanted anything before bed but decided that he was full enough from dinner.

He went to nod at Andrew before going upstairs, and found his friend reaching for him in an obvious manner; the hand resting lightly on his left arm surprised him, since there hadn’t been any ‘offers’ the last few days, not with how busy they had been and then both of them dealing with… well, with how busy it had been.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked, his expression carefully blank.

“Yes,” Abram answered, curious to see where things would lead that night. Andrew tugged him into the living room, toward the couch, and after spreading out the one blanket a little, they both sat down.

It started out with kissing, which Abram was fine with, which he enjoyed, as always. Andrew was a little rough but never too much, was passionate and insistent and then would pull back to nuzzle along Abram’s jaw and make him shiver. He took the time and care to know what Abram liked (and didn’t), and soon enough Abram was struggling to breathe as desire and pleasure coiled tighter and tighter inside of him, such foreign emotions until a few weeks ago.

Then Andrew pulled away with his hands on the hem of Abram’s sweater. “Yes?”

“Yes,” Abram agreed, even as his fingers twitched. Of course his friend noticed that, and when Abram reached for Andrew’s sweater in return, shook his head.

“Then no,” Abram said, which made Andrew’s expression return to its blank default and for him to pull away, to put space between them. “I’m not going to keep doing this,” he told his friend as he voiced the decision he’d come to the day before. “This isn’t about us being ‘fair’, but I’m not going to sit here or lay here or whatever you’ve in mind and let you do everything, dammit! I want you to feel good, too. I’m not saying that I have to blow you or do anything you don’t want, but stop treating me like… like a fucking child,” Abram insisted. “Like I’m a damn doll for you to play with and boss around.”

Emotion flashed across Andrew’s handsome face upon hearing those words, something dark and furious, but were gone almost immediately. “Do you believe that I’m using you?” he asked, voice tight with control and hands clenched into fists.

Abram let out a slow breath as he struggled to put his thoughts into order before he spoke again; all he’d wanted to do before was stop Andrew before they did what they’d always done, before he gave in to the wonderful emotions like always and let Andrew take control. “ _No_ ,” he said. “Not like you’re thinking. But I think… I think this isn’t doing either of us much good, if we keep on like this,” he confessed. “I understand why you don’t want me to… to act like I have with the others, but I’m still giving you all of the control, aren’t I?” That was what he’d come to realize.

Now there was something like confusion on Andrew’s face, right before realization as well. When he went to stand up, Abram latched on to his sweater. “It’s on _both_ of us, what did I tell you that other time? Stay. I said _I’m_ giving up control. And now, I don’t want to. Not entirely.”

“Dammit.” Andrew rubbed at his face for a moment, his motions jerky and expression bleak. “That- that wasn’t what I wanted.”

“I know.” Abram offered his friend a tentative smile and slowly reached for Andrew’s left hand; when Andrew didn’t pull away, he slid his fingers between his friend’s. “You push me on a lot of things, and some of them… some of them it takes me a while to figure out. I enjoy what we do. I want to do more of it. I just don’t think it’s good for us to keep doing it in the same way.” For some reason he didn’t understand just yet, this was too important, what he had with Andrew. He didn’t want it to be fucked up, didn’t want to become someone like his mother – so fixated and obsessed and cruel.

Andrew stared at their hands loosely clasped together then shook his head. “What if I can’t allow you to do to me what I do to you right now?” He looked up at Abram, his gaze intent. “Is that what you want?”

“ _No_ ,” Abram admitted. “I just want whatever is between us to be as equals,” he tried to explain. “If you can’t allow me those things, then we take a step back. It doesn’t have to be…  ‘tit for tat’ or whatever, not exactly, but I don’t like that there’s so much of a focus on me. We should try to move forward together a little more.” His smile faltered, the expression weak since he was fearful that Andrew would reject him. “What’s the rush?”

Things were quiet while Andrew continued to stare at him, except now his expression wasn’t as blank, it was thoughtful. “What if I happen to enjoy blowing you and want to do it?”

Fuck, not what Abram had expected to hear. “Uhm… I don’t… is there something I can do for you?” His voice shouldn’t squeak like that, really, and Andrew shouldn’t smile, just a little, as if amused. Dammit. Why did things always seem so much simpler and sensible in Abram’s head?

Andrew sat there while Abram fidgeted in anxious confusion for almost a minute, and then tugged his hand free. “I’ll think on it.” Then he leaned in, his motion deliberate, and gave Abram a light kiss before getting up and heading to his bedroom.

That… had gone well? Abram hoped it had gone well. He hadn’t meant to imply that Andrew was in the wrong – if anyone was it was him, in not speaking up sooner, in falling into the old mindset. Now that he had spoken, things could get better. That was, if he hadn’t ruined them.

He didn’t get much sleep that night, not when he was worried about Andrew, and eventually decided to get out of bed to start the morning with his usual work-out to see if that would burn off some of the anxiety. To his surprise, Andrew was already in the kitchen, nursing a mug of coffee.

“Ah, good morning?” Abram studied his friend, who was dressed in casual clothes and didn’t outwardly appear affected from the night before. Then again, Andrew was rather good about masking such things, what with that impassive poker face.

“You’re an idiot.”

Not the standard morning greeting, but not that unusual of one, either. Abram took it to mean that he wasn’t loathed on sight but he would probably have to do some ‘groveling’ to get back in his friend’s good graces, such as cooking breakfast and maybe even providing a Moriyama stooge or two for ‘questioning’.

Before he could answer back with ‘and you’re a prat’, he found himself pushed against the counter. “Uhm?” Then he found himself being kissed quiet.

All right, this was a new method of ‘groveling’, one Abram could accept. He held his hands up in a clear question of ‘where?’, and after a few seconds, Andrew broke off the kiss.

“Not beneath the clothes,” he said, voice rough and eyes intent on Abram’s.

“But… are you sure?” Abram asked, surprised that Andrew was allowing him so much.

Andrew seemed to hesitate for a moment, then grabbed Abram’s hands and settled them on his shoulders. “Not beneath the clothes,” he repeated. “Now, yes or no?”

“Yes.” It was still more than he’d allowed Abram before, and Abram would be mindful of his friend’s reactions just in case the stubborn fool was pushing too far because of last night. Then he found himself pressed against the counter and kissed quiet once more.

Andrew’s hands hesitated at the hem of Abram’s t-shirt, so he nodded in approval to allow them to slip beneath the material while his own mapped along the firm muscles of Andrew’s back. A low, pleased moan slipped free when Andrew rocked against him, his body quickly reacting to the feel of his friend’s weight and warmth, of the hands stroking along his back and skimming along the top of his ass. When Abram arched his neck at another hard grind, Andrew’s lips skimmed along his jaw and a strong hand trailed along his right thigh then urged the leg to wrap around Andrew’s own.

Abram buried the fingers of his right hand in Andrew’s short hair while his left hand stroked lower until it pressed into the small of his friend’s back while they rocked together. The pleasure grew more intense inside of him, spurred on by Andrew’s mouth hot and insistent on his neck, Andrew’s hands cupping his ass and pulling him into each grinding thrust. His fingers reached out to brush against firm muscles which flexed beneath them as his hand pulled Andrew even closer to him as his right arm wound around broad shoulders, and he cried out Andrew’s name as he came.

Shuddering as the pleasure tore through him in the most exquisite way, extremities tingling and heart thundering, he felt Andrew’s hands tighten on him a few seconds later, felt hot air against his left ear as Andrew pressed his face against the side of Abram’s head while he trembled through his own orgasm. Abram held on to his friend by the shoulders as his own breathing evened out and his leg dropped to the floor, even if he didn’t feel too steady on his feet at the moment.

Before Andrew could pull away, Abram risked a gentle, lingering kiss to his friend’s sweaty neck. “Thank you.” His hands skimmed around to rest against Andrew’s impressive chest. “That- that was good.” Oh fuck, that sounded awful, didn’t it?

Andrew stared at him for a couple of seconds as if he was insane, which was very possible, then pulled his hands from out of the back Abram’s pants. “You’re still an idiot.”

“Quite possibly,” Abram agreed. And one in desperate need of a shower and a new pair of pants, but still, a very enjoyable start to the morning.

“You’re also making pancakes,” Andrew told him as he stepped back with a grimace while he tugged at the waist of his own pants.

“You know… not even going to argue right now,” Abram said, figuring it wasn’t a battle worth fighting. “Have the bloody extinguisher on hand, all right?”

“Of course,” Andrew scoffed as he headed for the stairs.

Abram probably didn’t want to know where he fell on the ‘fucked up’ meter just then, but at least he could take some comfort in knowing that Andrew wasn’t that much better off than him.

*******

Andrew added some more syrup to his pancakes while he watched Abram clean up the mess; he hadn’t needed to use the fire extinguisher, but there had been a panicked moment or two during the cooking process. Much to his surprise, breakfast had turned out edible, even if Abram was muttering beneath his breath about American sadists and sticking to toast for himself.

It was… it was a good morning.

That thought surprised Andrew, considering the night before and Abram’s little bombshell. He hadn’t expected Abram to confront him like that, to say that they needed to change things in their… whatever it was, between them. Part of him had been waiting for the British man’s ‘no’, for everything to end. But for a ‘something’s not quite right and this is what I think we need to do to fix it for both of our sakes’? A ‘it’s not your fault, it’s both of ours, so help me make it better’? Things like that didn’t happen to Andrew.

Things like _Abram_ didn’t happen to Andrew.

Yet there the idiot stood, cleaning up the dishes from a breakfast he made for a ‘prat’ he’d engaged in frottage with less than an hour ago, the marks Andrew had left on his neck bright red against pale skin. When Andrew went to fetch more pancakes, Abram looked up and gave him a slight smile, despite the fact that he’d been cursing Andrew out just a minute ago.

No, things like Abram didn’t happen to Andrew, but for some unknown, improbably reason, there the idiot stood.

Bee would tell him that it was unrealistic to believe that the world would deny him an opportunity like this, that he was worthy of it and deserved it just as much as everyone else if not more so. She would also say (had said, in fact) that yes, he did have control issues – look at the lengths he went to in order to protect what was ‘his’, to keep his ‘family’ safe. That he needed to learn to take a couple of risks and, if not to ‘let go’, to loosen up a little. That was why he had refused to let Abram’s words destroy him last night, why he had taken that precarious step forward that morning.

Of course Abram had listened, as always. Had respected his boundaries and hadn’t tried to push past them, to test them, and as always there had been that gratitude for everything that Andrew had ‘given’ him. It made Andrew want more, made Andrew _want_ , and for the first time, he was beginning to believe that the idiot really was moving past Jain.

So there had to be something waiting to come along and fuck things up, right? Something this good couldn’t last.

He finished the pancakes and dumped his dishes in the sink for Abram to do, then hovered around the kitchen while having some coffee because… because he didn’t know why. Because Abram was in there, cleaning up and having some toast. Because for some reason, it was comfortable to be near him, even if all Andrew did was bitch about how they were running out of the one brand of cookies he liked and Abram tease him about how he wasn’t as wide as he was tall yet.

It was around then that they got a text from Bren to let them know he was stopping by; Andrew was in the middle of putting together a shopping list when the enforcer came into the townhouse. “Ah, something smells… eh, I’m not sticking around for breakfast, I think.” He wrinkled his nose as he entered the kitchen, left hand reaching into his leather coat to pull out a hard drive; his eyes narrowed when he caught sight of the hickeys on Abram’s neck and he flashed a quick grin Andrew’s way.

“You weren’t invited,” Andrew told him. “Another few tries and Abram can make pancakes unsupervised. We need to get a waffle maker next – that should be hilarious.”

There was a pained expression on Abram’s face, but Andrew didn’t think it had to do with the jabs about his cooking for once. “Why haven’t I poisoned him yet?” he asked Bren.

“Come now, we just got the place cleaned up from the last body,” Bren complained. “Stop making us work so much!” His smile faltered as he nudged the device sitting on the island. “More work from Lloyd, sorry.”

“More?” Andrew gave Bren a cold look. “Since when?”

Bren gave a nervous chuckle as he took a step back. “Ah, right, you weren’t… uhm, the other day?” Andrew took that to mean the day after Bee’s funeral. “We owe him a couple of things.”

By ‘we’, it was apparent that the agent was getting some work out of Abram, wonderful. “I’ve a list for you, bring the stuff when you come back for the drive,” Andrew told the man as he held up his phone, done with the conversation.

“See, what did I say about threats?” Bren told Abram as he waved goodbye. “Ping me when you’re finished.”

Abram just waved goodbye before he connected the drive to his laptop, then went to put on a pot of tea. “You all right with this?” Andrew asked.

The idiot was still for a moment before he nodded. “It needs to be done.”

Not the answer that Andrew wanted, but he let it slide for the time being and went to start a fire so he could read in the living room. He was only a couple of chapters into the book when Abram got up all of a sudden and took his laptop and the drive into the office – the office that they barely used. Andrew noted that the door was firmly closed shut as well.

That was not a good sign. Andrew gave it another hour, then put on a fresh pot of tea and made some toast, which he then took to the office. After a couple of knocks, Abram called out that it was all right for him to enter.

His idiot’s face was pale, those blue eyes were shadowed and lips swollen as if they’d been bitten into a lot the past hour or so. Andrew set the refreshments on the desk then sat down on the edge of it. “How bad?”

Abram scrubbed at his face then ran his hands through his hair; it was then that Andrew noticed the red roots. “Rather,” Abram said, his voice hoarse.

Andrew considered it for a moment after he forced his mind away from Abram’s hair. “Stop doing it?”

“No.” A tired smile spread across Abram’s face as he picked up the mug of tea. “It has to be done, it’s a favor owed and I’d rather clear the books sooner than later.”

“Then have someone else do it,” Andrew argued, even as he braced himself for the incoming martyr bullshit.

“There’s no one else who can do this,” Abram said with a slight shake of his head. “And I dread to think what else Lloyd will want.” He closed his eyes as he sank back in the large leather chair, for a moment appearing like a wayward child who’d snuck into his father’s office.

Before he could stop himself, Andrew reached out and slid his fingers through the soft, inky black hair, and imagined the wavy strands as an auburn color instead. “Eat the damn toast,” he ordered before he let go.

“Yes, sir,” Abram breathed out with a slight smile.

Andrew left the office and closed the door behind him, then pulled out his phone. “What is it this time?” Stuart asked with a hint of exasperation to his voice. “No, we haven’t found any more of those Ravens for you to slice up.”

“What the fuck is that spook having Abram do?”

“Eh?” There was a muffled sound as if Stuart called out to Davis about something with his hand over the phone. “Lloyd, right?”

“Yes, Lloyd. He’s having Abram do something for him.” Andrew went outside to smoke and to keep Abram from overhearing the call. “Whatever it is, it’s fucked up.”

Stuart was quiet for a few seconds. “Ram tell you what it is?” At Andrew’s eloquent snort, he sighed. “Right, stupid question. Give me some time to look into it. What he did for us doesn’t excuse whatever the hell he has Ram doing, the greedy fuck.”

“Exactly.” For a moment Andrew debated bringing up Camilo, but decided since Stuart was being cooperative on the Lloyd front not to ruin things. Besides, that might be a conversation best dealt with in person.

That resolved for the time being, Andrew went back to the living room and his book, which he read in-between various texts from Nicky and even a couple from Renee. He got up at one point to make himself something to eat for lunch and more tea for Abram, then turned on the television to watch the ‘breaking’ news for a little bit.

Abram finally finished with whatever it was that Lloyd had wanted done, his eyes shadowed and expression haunted when he came out of the office. Andrew gave the idiot a large glass of wine and was surprised when Abram asked for a kiss, one that was deep and desperate and more about reassurance than passion. When it broke off, he rested his forehead against Andrew’s for a couple of seconds before he pulled away.

Bren showed up with the Thai take-out and the groceries, and frowned at the way Abram handed over the drive with obvious disgust. “Sorry,” he told Abram, his expression solemn.

“It’s not your fault.” Abram shrugged as he pushed the container away, only to sigh when Andrew pushed it right back in front of him.

“Eat it, because I’m not going to be held responsible for what I do if I have to put up with your uncle whining about you,” he warned.

Abram cast a pleading look Bren’s way, but all the enforcer did was laugh and top off his wine glass. “Nope, you’re on your own and I’m outta here. Have a date I can’t be late for or I’ll be in trouble. Ta.” He waved as he let himself out.

“Lovely.” Abram sighed as he opened the container, but once he started eating, he seemed to remember that he had an appetite after all. “And what have you done all day?” he asked after several bites.

Andrew gave a slight shrug as he finished off a spring roll. “Have something to show you when you’re done.” At Abram’s arch look, he glared. “Idiot.”

“Sorry, couldn’t resist.” Abram hid his smile behind the rim of his wine glass; for that, Andrew stole the idiot’s spring rolls, which he never was going to manage with all of those noodles, anyway.

Once dinner was finished, Andrew topped off Abram’s wine glass then grabbed a pint of ice cream and some whiskey for himself before they went into the living room, where they both sat down on the loveseat. Abram threw a blanket over their laps since Andrew’s hands were full, and turned on the television; since it was on the same channel as before, a sports one, it didn’t take too long for the anchors to bring up the story.

“So, what is this about?” Abram asked as he tucked his long legs beneath the blanket.

“You’ll see.” Andrew had about half of his whiskey then set the glass down on the coffee table so he could enjoy his dessert. There was some boring babble about soccer scores and upcoming Exy drafts before they finally got to it.

“Right now the Exy world is talking about the breaking scandal around many of its top players battling addiction, especially in regards to Ravens graduates. There’s been damaging footage of several players, including Kevin Day and Justin Williams-“

“Bloody hell,” Abram said, his voice low and almost awed as he leaned forward. “Wait, is this what you were talking about? That Stephanie Walker was working on?”

Andrew nodded as a feeling akin to satisfaction filled his chest. “Kevin couldn’t get through a weekend in university without drinking himself into a stupor, and if he had to deal with the Ravens? I’m surprised he didn’t come down with alcohol poisoning before he graduated. From the little I’ve heard, it didn’t get any better after he went to the pros, but who’s going to say anything as long as he can still play, and for a winning team?” As long as he had the Moriyamas backing him.

“Hmm.” Abram leaned back into the corner of the loveseat as he regarded his own glass of wine. “It’s damaging, but it doesn’t single just him out and it’s not a direct attack against the Moriyamas. Clever.” He raised his glass in a toast before he had a sip.

“Renee worked it out with her mother so that Stephanie’s name isn’t even attached to any of the articles or video footage.” She had helped direct certain reporters to the sources and told them where to look for the information, but that was it – Renee didn’t want Stephanie to be too deeply involved with the scandal, she just wanted to hurt the Moriyamas for what they’d done to Bee and if it could help out some people in the long run? Ah, best of both worlds for ‘Natalie’ and ‘Christian Girl’.

They watched the anchors go on about the ‘scandal’ for a few more minutes. “So what, you shine a light on what’s happening to the Ravens? Hurt some of the Moriyamas’ key revenue?” Abram asked.

“Those are some of the takeaways,” Andrew agreed. “But I know Day, and this?” He motioned toward the television before he turned it off. “He doesn’t do well under pressure, unless it’s out on the court. Renee’s hoping this will end up with him in a rehab facility, I’ll be content if it gets him out of the Moriyamas’ hands for a few weeks.” That it got him away from Riko and Tetsuji, away from being ‘asked’ to give up any more names and maybe a chance to think for himself for once.

To set him up for Andrew to drop a little bug in his ear about his mother.

“Other than his time at Palmetto State, he hasn’t been away from the Moriyamas since his mother died.” Abram seemed to think on that. “It would be interesting, to have him in an environment where they probe at his ‘issues’, wouldn’t it? Though I’m certain that it would be one selected by the Moriyamas.”

“It would still get him out of their reach for a little while,” Andrew argued.

“We’ll have to wait and see what happens.” That made Abram huff a little before he finished off his wine. “What a common occurrence.”

Very true. Andrew turned on the television again, but changed the channel until he found a suitable movie – one that made Abram groan a little before chuckling and shaking his head, yet he stayed downstairs to watch it. By the end of it, the shadows were mostly gone from his eyes and he didn’t seem so haunted anymore.

Andrew wondered what had been on that hard drive, but he didn’t want to ruin things by mentioning it, especially right before Abram went upstairs to bed. However, he changed his mind the next day when he found the idiot already on the treadmill, covered with sweat and circles under his eyes, appearing just a few minutes shy of passing out from exhaustion. Andrew stopped the treadmill and ordered Abram to go shower, and for once his friend obeyed without arguing.

As soon as Abram returned to the kitchen dressed in loose cotton pants and a sweater that had to be several sizes too big, Andrew shoved a travel coffee mug into his hands then all but dragged him down to the McLaren; they were going away for the day, just in case anyone tried to stop by with some ‘work’. They got far enough outside of the city before he pulled into a drive thru (one had to admire the colonization of American cuisine) so they could have something to eat for breakfast, and then they continued on south. The McLaren was a joy to drive and it wasn’t often that he got to do so outside the city for so long.

“Where are we going?”

“Brighton,” Andrew said.

“Okay.” Abram twisted a strand of hair around his right forefinger. “Why?”

Andrew shrugged. “Just picked a place.” It was doable for a day trip and he’d heard Nadav talk about it once. “So, what was on that hard drive?”

“Couldn’t wait until you got me in a bar to ask this?” Abram sighed. “Not much I can talk about, considering its source. However, let’s just say… _fuck_.” He scrubbed at his face, and as he hunched over, Andrew once again got a good look at his friend’s roots. Oh yes, someone had definitely chosen to skip covering them up lately. “There were tricks on it you could learn, if you wanted to become a seriously sick, sadistic fuck,” Abram said in a quiet voice while he stared in a too-blank manner.

Andrew thought on that as he passed a slow as hell sub-compact. “He has you reviewing interrogation tapes.”

“I’m translating for him,” Abram ‘clarified’. “Not sure where the tapes came from, not about to ask. Might be the point of it all, that they’re not official.” He closed his eyes as he rested his head back against the seat. “Can we not talk about this?”

The things Abram did, he did for his family, to keep the Hatfords and their people safe. Andrew recognized that aspect of himself in his friend, and it was why he had no issue with wearing the Hatford coat of arms, with working for the family. They weren’t the Moriyamas, there were some lines they wouldn’t cross. Oh, they would lie and steal and they would kill in a heartbeat if they thought you had broken your word with them, if you had or would hurt them. He was also certain that a large part of their ‘moral’ code was only in place because it made them profitable, it kept them marketable to certain agencies. He didn’t care about the reasons, he just cared about the outcomes.

The Hatfords were protecting Nicky and Aaron. The Hatfords had taken Andrew in and given him a job, a purpose, a place to live. They had given him a means to strike back at the Moriyamas.

The Hatfords were Abram.

They were embodied in a gorgeous idiot who fell asleep on the drive to the coastal city, curled up in the passenger seat of Andrew’s sports car with a lock of hair fallen on his face and hands hidden in that ridiculous sweater. Andrew smoked a couple of cigarettes while he drove and listened to the roar of the engine, and felt the oddest sort of contentment. Odd because it was so strong, and over something so banal.

They reached Brighton by late morning, with the sky overcast and the white-capped waves crashing onto the beach as if trying to eat away at the sand, to obliterate the earth one tide at a time. Abram walked out onto the beach with a shuttered expression on his face, his arms wrapped around him since he hadn’t grabbed a coat before leaving the house, and stared at the white-capped water for about a minute before he crouched down to grab a handful of sand and then flung it into the retreating waves. When he turned around there was a look of grief on his face, but it was soon replaced by defiance as he stalked over to Andrew.

He paused for a moment, only a hand’s breadth away, and when Andrew nodded, reached for the cigarette in Andrew’s hand to also fling it away before he leaned in for a kiss that was almost savage in its need. His lips were cold and his hair fluttered around Andrew’s face like phantom caresses, not to mention they were out in public, but Andrew merely buried his fingers in the soft strands and kissed back until Abram settled against him without any tension in that lean body.

“You buried her on a beach,” he said when Abram broke off the kiss, the memory stirring all of a sudden, one of their traded truths. Dammit, he hadn’t thought about that when he had set out that morning.

“In California, at night.” Abram shivered a little. “Not quite the same thing as today.” Then he smiled, the expression wicked and breathtaking. “We can try to recreate it, though, maybe put a few ghosts to rest. Bring the damn car down here, I’ll go fetch some petrol.”

“Not on your fucking life, _babe_ ,” Andrew said as he shoved his idiot away from the ocean. “I will drown you first.”

The damn feeling from before returned, only so much stronger, so much… so much more _intense_ , when Abram laughed of all things, and huddled next to Andrew for warmth. They garnered a few stares as they walked around, but Andrew noticed that there were a couple of other guys walking close together and even holding hands, and two women as well, so he had a feeling the people here were used to it.

They found a coffee shop where the idiot could warm up and Andrew have some mocha lattes, and all was right in the world for a little while. Abram only dealt with his phone long enough to let Jamie know where he was, and Andrew waited until his friend went off to the bathroom to send Stuart a quick text about the hard drive.

After that they did some more walking around, with Abram buying a scarf but refusing to get a new coat when he already had plenty at home, and then stopped at a local restaurant for a late lunch. Normally loathed at having people near him so much, Andrew had to admit that Abram’s near constant presence against his side wasn’t a bad thing, especially when considering all the interested looks sent their way. However, with the closeness between them and the still vivid hickeys on Abram’s neck? Most soon looked away.

They’d taken to debating on if they should stay for dinner or not when Andrew’s phone rang; at first he was set to ignore it, and then he noticed the unfamiliar number. Figuring it was best not to be overheard, he tugged Abram toward the back of some stupid shop they’d gone into so he could pick up Nicky a horrid souvenir before he answered it. “What do you want?” he asked with a lazy drawl while holding the phone far enough away from his ear for Abram to hear as well.

“Ooh, they weren’t kidding about you being rough around the edges, were they?” a woman’s voice all but purred; there was a bit of a Northeastern nasal bite to it, maybe eastern New York or New Jersey, something from the coastal area. “Hasn’t Nathaniel been teaching you manners, Doe? He was raised up right before that bitch ran off with him. So polite, that boy, or else he got smacked for talking back.”

“Smacked or sliced up?” Andrew asked even as he reached out to grasp Abram by the back of the neck while his friend closed his eyes as if to shut out the memories; Abram shivered a little and mouthed the name ‘Lola’, but kept his eyes closed.

Lola laughed, the sound too amused for the current topic. “Well, one was as good as the other, yeah? It made Junior know his place, at least for a while.” Her voice took on a conspiratol edge. “Have you tried it? Tried smacking him around or slicing him up? He’s so pretty when he cries, it’s those eyes of his.”

Sharp, biting rage filled Andrew when he heard those words. “I wouldn’t know, I’m not a sick fuck like you or your boss.”

“Ah, now, now, Doe, that’s not true. I had such a lovely talk with your foster brother, after all!” Lola called out with evident glee. “My, the things you did with him, you naughty boy. And to think you’re doing them now with Junior?” She made a tsking sound over the phone. “Do you break out the knives, too? I bet you make him cry, I really do, right before you fuck him.”

Andrew was ready to tell the sadistic cunt to go fuck herself, but Abram opened his eyes and shook his head while he reached out to touch the center of Andrew’s chest; dammit, he couldn’t give in to the rage, couldn’t let her goad him into doing something stupid. She was doing her best to make him do something stupid, hence bringing up Drake and talking about Andrew abusing and fucking Abram.

So instead, he pulled Abram closer while he bowed his head so that their foreheads touched and forced himself to remain in control, to force the rage down. “Are you getting off on this? Oh, I bet you are. Should I give you a minute here? Let me know when you’re getting close and I’ll start telling you how good it felt to carve up those Raven fuck-ups to help speed you along.”

Lola was quiet for a moment and then laughed. “Oh, now I understand what Junior sees in you. Not bad, Doe, not bad at all. I guess if the boy has to be someone’s bitch, he could do worse.”

“Your approval means so little to me,” Andrew said with no inflection. “Now, is there a point to this, other than to waste five minutes of my day?”

“Now, now, we’re having fun, aren’t we?” When Andrew didn’t say anything, Lola sighed. “Aw, you’re breaking my heart, snuggums.”

“Call me that again and I’ll break more than your heart,” he promised.

“I think I like you,” Lola declared, while Andrew fought not to shudder in disgust. “All right, time to get down to business. You have to see that this is a bad career choice, the path you’re on. The Hatfords? You picked a losing team. We admire your dedication to Nathaniel and all, but he’s not going to be a Hatford for much longer. It’s not his destiny, one might say. He’s a Wesninski, and he’s bartered goods.”

“I’m not betraying him, so fuck off,” Andrew ground out.

“Who said anything about betraying him?” Lola asked in a rush. “Look, just listen to me, all right? There’s a way we all win, all right? You get to keep Junior and no more ‘accidents’ like what happened to that poor woman, what’s her name.”

Andrew didn’t rise to the bait and say Bee’s name. “Like I could ever trust a bitch like you.”

“Oh snuggums, at least I’m honest about what I am,” Lola cooed. “And I’m telling you right now, give us Junior or you and that faggy little cousin of yours will be dead.”

He was deliberately quiet for several seconds while Abram closed his eyes once more. Lola giggled a little on the other end of the line. “But there’s no need to get so nasty, right? Like I said, you can keep Junior, can continue watching over him and fucking him while he cries, whatever it is about that boy that’s gotten you all twisted up in him. He’ll just be in his rightful place at the time, and taught a few new lessons by his father. I bet he’ll be even more fun for you once that’s done.”

Andrew tapped his fingers against the phone as he struggled with another bout of rage. “I don’t – I have to go,” he said with a bit of false urgency in his voice. Then he hung up the phone and shoved it into the inner pocket of his coat before wrapping his other hand around the back of Abram’s neck. “Well?”

Abram shivered, either from the touch or in reaction to Lola’s call; Andrew had a feeling it might be the latter. “That went better than I thought, to be honest. Not the all-out threats I’d expected.”

No, those had been rather subtle, all in all. “This Lola, truly a ‘lovely’ lady.”

“One could say that.” Abram laughed, the sound strained and faint. “If one has mental issues.”

“Exactly. Let’s go.” Andrew grabbed the ugliest thing he could find on the way out, a doll made out of seashells, and threw some money down on the counter before leaving the store. Once in the McLaren, he turned up the heat for Abram and they waited until they were out on the highway to continue the discussion. “She loves to go after the weak points.”

“That’s Lola for you.” Abram appeared so young right then, young and distraught with the shadows beneath his eyes and the forlorn expression on his face. “Pinches on your arms and legs, wherever your clothes would hide the bruises but would hurt the most. A foot stuck out when you least expected it so you would trip and fall, and then get blamed for being clumsy or for knocking something over.” He shuddered as he hunched down into the seat even more, huddled into the sweater – he was trying to make himself into a smaller target, Andrew realized, and probably doing it unconsciously. “Yanks to the hair to make you cry out when you’re supposed to be quiet.”

“How old were you?” Andrew had a feeling he’d hate the answer, but he needed to know how perverse the bitch was if he was going to deal with her.

“I… I don’t know,” Abram scrubbed at his face with his hands, which were covered by the sleeves of his sweater. “Three, maybe? My mother did her best to keep everyone away from me the first year or two, but once I was walking around all the time, I was fair game. The tricks became worse the older I grew, and then my dad handed me over to her so I could learn how to use knives.”

Yet Mary Hatford hadn’t run until ‘Nathaniel’ had been ten years old. What the _fuck_.

The steering wheel creaked beneath Andrew’s hands, forcing him to let go of it. “What can I expect from her? If she’s the one calling me back, what can I expect from her?”

“Mind games, and lots of them. She likes to inflict pain,” Abram explained, his voice as exhausted as he appeared just then. “If she can’t sink her claws into you one way, she’ll try it another.”

“I’d never have guessed, especially since she was the one to send Drake my way.” Andrew felt another rush of anger when he recalled what the bitch had said about the man, how she’d compared the two of them. How she’d implied that he would _ever_ use Abram that way.

Speaking of which…. “Hey, are you all right with this?” he asked as he reached over to once more cup his hand around the back of Abram’s neck. Despite the warmth of the car and the long hair covering it, the skin felt cold and clammy. “You don’t have to go through with it.” With Andrew’s plan.

Abram’s movements were jerky as he turned toward Andrew, his smile blatantly false. “Yeah. I’m fine.”

“Bullshit,” Andrew said, the word harsh with the anger he felt. “Just say ‘no’, we’ll figure something else out.” There would be other ways to get at someone higher in the ranks than what the Moriyamas or Wesninski had been sending so far.

“No – not that I won’t do it,” Abram said in a rush as he closed his eyes. “I’ll do it.” He kept pulling in on himself. “Not going to let them get away with this, with threatening you and Nicky. It’s just….” He didn’t continue, just shook his head as he pulled his feet up onto the seat and wrapped his arms around his legs.

He’d stood there and listened to Lola say all those things, to go on about how he was Moriyama property, to state how he would end up back in his father’s hands eventually. Then he’d dredged up the shit that Lola had done to him on top of it.

With all of that in mind, Andrew pulled off at the nearest exit and then at a gas station, where he used his phone to find a decent hotel.

“Uhm, what are you doing?”

“We’re not going home tonight,” he explained as he memorized the directions; the choices would have been better in Brighton, but they probably were safer in a less populated area like Lewes. A destination in mind, he set out for it while Abram continued to stare at him as if he was crazy.

They stopped by a store along the way to pick up a few things they’d need, such as toiletries, underwear and t-shirts to sleep in, and then checked into the hotel – more along the lines of a bed and breakfast. They stood out just a little with the McLaren and the fact that they were two men checking into a suite together – a suite that ended up having one bed, but also a couch. Andrew figured he could suck it up for the night and sleep on the couch. It was a far cry from their usual extravagant hotel rooms, but the lost, tormented look was gone from Abram’s face so Andrew decided that it evened out.

“Why are we doing this?” Abram asked as they dropped off their new purchases before they headed out for dinner at a local restaurant down the street.

“Because I think we both need a break,” Andrew said. “Do you really want to go home right now?”

Abram shook his head, and that was enough of the topic for the time being. Dinner turned out to be rather good at the small Italian restaurant, and Abram actually smiled when Andrew hoarded all of the garlic bread. They split a bottle of wine between them, and purchased another to take back to the room.

There were several anxious texts for him to answer once they were in the room, all revolving around where the hell was he and when he was getting back home with ‘Ram’, to which Andrew basically replied ‘kidnapped your precious Ram, want the latest P1 to give him back’.

The varied responses were rather interesting, he had to say, though Stuart’s was mostly inarticulate.

“What the fuck is Gretna Green?” he asked Abram, who was busy pouring them some wine.

“Eh? Why do you want to know?”

“Both Jamie and Davis are asking if I took you there for some reason.”

“Oh for fuck’s sake.” Abram pressed the palm of his left hand between his eyes for a moment, his expression pained, and then picked up one of the wine glasses to start drinking it down as if it was water. Taking that as a very bad sign, Andrew looked up the location, and got up to fetch the bottle before the idiot drank all the wine.

He was kicking some serious ass when he got back to London.

“Why do people have to meddle?” Abram asked as he fell onto the couch right next to Andrew. “I mean… why?”

Because they were the idiot’s family, and they had a decent reason for it most of the time. All Andrew did, though, was shrug while he drank the wine.

“Asshole,” Abram mumbled while he rested against Andrew and closed his eyes.

Andrew allowed it for a minute or two then shrugged. “If you’re going to sleep, go to bed.”

“Don’t want to,” Abram mumbled.

“You’re not a child.” Andrew shrugged again. “And I’m not a piece of furniture.”

Abram sighed again as he sat up. “You use the bed.” He rubbed at his shadowed eyes; the dark circles only made the pale blue all the more brilliant. For some insane reason, Andrew wondered what he’d look like in club clothes, all black and clinging, with a bit of eyeliner smudged around those eyes. Not something Andrew needed in his head when Abram was exhausted in more than one sense. “I don’t feel like sleeping right now.”

More like the idiot was five minutes away from passing out, he just didn’t want to deal with the dreams that came along with sleeping. With the _nightmares_ , thanks to Lloyd and Lola.

Despite the fact that Andrew already owed a truth, considering what Abram had told him earlier, he set the wine aside and turned about a little to better face his idiot. “You’re not dyeing your hair anymore, are you?”

“And this night just got better,” Abram groaned as he reached up to tuck aside a lock of hair that had been falling onto his face. “Why should I answer that?”

“Because I’ll lie down with you on the bed for a little while,” Andrew offered, all too familiar with nightmares himself. “Not all night, though.” He rubbed at his left arm band. “Don’t think either of us wants to be stabbed or punched.”

Abram winced at that even as he nodded. “All right.” He took a deep breath as if to steady himself. “You were right, about my hair. About me being afraid of looking like my father. I decided that there was no sense in me running from it anymore.”

Andrew considered that for a moment. “Is that all?”

“It’s never easy with you,” Abram muttered as he covered his eyes for a few seconds as if they troubled him. “I have a home here now. To make it work, I need to… I guess own up to a few things about myself. This was one of them,” he said as he gestured to his face.

That made sense; Abram would never be comfortable with himself if he couldn’t even look at his image in the mirror. There was something else, though. “That have anything to do with the other night, with the two of us?” It had been around then that Andrew had noticed the hint of red in Abram’s hair.

“Yes,” Abram admitted without looking away. “I’ve always been terrified of becoming my father. It never occurred to me how much my mother had influenced me.” He looked away then as he rubbed at his left wrist. “She… I always had to listen to her, always had to obey or else it might draw attention to us, might put us in danger. There’s more to it than that but, I don’t think it’s good, me being like her. Like she raised me to be.”

That wasn’t something Andrew was going to argue with, even if he’d inadvertently done something to bring out that side in Abram. Would have been nice to know a bit more the other night… but it had been a difficult enough thing, without throwing Mary Hatford into the mix. “Say something, next time. _If_ there’s a next time,” he said as he stood up. Then he scoffed even as he tugged Abram onto his feet as well. “Knowing all your issues, there probably will be.”

“Do you strive to be this much of an asshole, _hon_?” Still, Abram allowed himself to be led to the bedroom and pushed onto the bed while Andrew went to wash off and change. Then it was Abram’s turn to do the same, and he slid beneath the duvet and sheets while Andrew wrapped himself in the blanket left at the foot of the bed.

Abram fell asleep in a few minutes, worn out by the lack of sleep among other things, but it took Andrew a little longer; even at that, he was surprised to fall asleep while that close to another person. It was probably halfway through the night when he woke up, purposely cocooned in the blanket to keep him from being able to lash out right away until he remembered where he was, and during that time Abram stirred as well. He told the idiot to go back to sleep, which Abram did with an incoherent murmur, while Andrew retreated to the couch. It took him longer to fall asleep that time, but he’d left the bedroom door open and after staring at Abram asleep on the bed long enough, he was out.

They were better the next day, Abram no longer exhausted and some of his demons put to temporary rest if not exorcised, and that damn sense of contentment back inside of Andrew when Abram dragged him off for coffee and donuts before they left Lewes. When all he had to do was look over to his left to see the box of donuts on Abram’s lap and a half-smile on his idiot’s face as he drove the McLaren along the highway.

Stuart was waiting for them in the townhouse, of course, and went into full ‘fuss’ mode on Abram as soon as they were out of the garage. Andrew swore that the bastard checked his nephew’s left hand at least twice and wasn’t happy about the fading hickeys, while Davis laughed the entire time.

“I’m _fine_ ,” Abram kept repeating, his voice taking on a strained edge after a while. “We just needed some fresh air.”

“I’ll take you to Galway or something next time, just give me a call,” Stuart told him. “You sure you’re all right? You been eating? Getting enough rest?”

Abram gave up on talking and walked right out of the kitchen to the stairs.

“ _Fuck_ ,” Stuart muttered, then spun toward Andrew. “Look, what the _hell_ were you-“

Andrew flipped up a knife, which made Davis stop smiling and got Stuart to back up a step. “First off, your nephew spent several hours looking at interrogation videos rough enough to give _him_ nightmares, so I can think we’re talking about shit way past a little waterboarding and slice and dice,” he reminded Stuart. “I wanted him out of London in case Bren had to drop off another fucking hard drive. I was trying to tell you that yesterday.”

Stuart gave a curt nod. “All right, that makes sense. But why the entire night?”

“Because before we left Brighton, Lola Malcolm called me.” Andrew noticed the way that Davis went stiff again and the bright flare of hate in Stuart’s grey eyes. “To sum up a very distasteful call, she expects me to hand over Abram to save my and Nicky’s necks. I’d say the plan is on.”

Stuart glanced at Davis, who pulled out his phone right away. “We’ve already got a fuckload of people on your family, but we’ll warn them about the new threat.”

Andrew nodded to show his appreciation of that fact.

“Does that diseased-riddled, psychotic tart really think that you’re going to just hand over Abram?” Davis asked as he continued to text someone.

“Well, I’m not so much handing him over as switching sides with Abram as my transfer bonus,” Andrew explained. “Or so that’s what she’s offering me. I’m expecting her to call back at any moment.”

Disgust twisted Davis’ face while hatred made Stuart’s into a terrible mask, at least for a few seconds. “That’s… I’d flay your traitorous arse and spread your remains out on that fucking car you love so much if you ever really tried it, but it’ll work for us, yeah,” Stuart said.

“Good, now get the hell out of my house, and keep that spook the fuck away from Abram,” Andrew demanded.

Stuart had to make a rude gesture but yanked on his coat to leave, probably because he’d offended his precious Ram and knew it was best if he gave his nephew some time to cool off. Davis finished sending out whatever message he’d been texting and shook his head at Andrew. “You really need to work on your relationship with the in-laws.”

He barely managed to duck in time to avoid the knife thrown at him.

There was a sense of peace to be back in the townhouse, and Andrew felt himself relax now that he was ‘home’. He took a shower and changed into clean clothes, then grabbed some ice cream while he looked at the messages on his phone. Renee let him know that things were proceeding well on the ‘Take Kevin Out’ plan, enough so that the press were going after a lot of Foxes for ‘testimonials’ about Kevin’s drinking habits. Nicky was texting him about that as well, asking if it was all right to talk about Kevin and saying that _Aaron_ had reached out to him, asking what the _fuck_ was going on with Day, why were people bothering him and why the hell had he been dragged to a funeral for Betsy Dobson (Katelyn, ‘dear’ Katelyn, Andrew was willing to bet) when Andrew hadn’t even bothered?

Andrew told his cousin to say whatever he wanted about Kevin’s drinking problem, just within reason – in other words, don’t be a drama queen about it, don’t mention Andrew, and definitely don’t mention the Moriyamas. Definitely not to give out any information about Andrew to the press, and to tell Aaron to _fuck off_. Now the bastard wanted to talk? Too little, too late, especially when it concerned Andrew.

For once Nicky didn’t try to argue with him, probably because he now knew that it was best for Aaron to be kept in the dark and as far away from everything as possible. Nicky got back to work after sending Andrew a text about a second hot new neighbor moving in, which made him feel _very_ safe except for the heart palpitations. Oh, and if these were the type of bodyguards who worked for Abram’s family, why did poor Abram get stuck with Andrew?

Andrew told him to fuck off and die in an extremely painful manner.

It wasn’t long after that when Abram came downstairs, dressed in another over-large sweater which made Andrew want to yank on the neck some more to expose those toned shoulders and run his hands beneath it to feel the sleek muscles beneath it and _\- fuck_. He forgot about being angry at Nicky and checking the news about Kevin and everything else, all in favor of getting Abram on the couch and eventually out of that damn sweater.

That time he allowed Abram to remove his sweatshirt, to touch him from the waist up while he jerked off the both of them. He kept waiting for it to be too much, for him to feel disgust and fear rather than the potent want and pleasure that strove him on to touch and lick and kiss and thrust, but Abram’s fingers were so gentle on him, were almost tentative, his arms wrapped around Andrew’s shoulders but quick to loosen if he twitched or shifted about. There was no sense of restriction, of possession, just that almost reverence and pleasure.

After he came, Andrew kept his head tucked against the side of Abram’s neck for a moment, content to feel fingers rub gently along his scalp and trace a teasing pattern along his spine, before he let out a slow breath and shifted up on his left elbow while he wiped his right hand clean on the blanket. Abram let his hands fall down to rest on his chest.

“So… pizza tonight? Bren grabbed the stuff we need to make our own,” he offered.

Andrew considered that while he rocked back onto his heels so he could pull up his pants enough to go upstairs for another shower. “That should be fine.”

“Okay.” Abram gave him a shy smile and waited for him get off the couch before looking around for his clothes. Then he shrugged and just gathered the blanket around him, grabbed his clothes off of the floor and walked with Andrew to the stairs so he could shower as well.

Andrew had just put the toppings on his pizza when his phone rang with another ‘unfamiliar’ number. Motioning for Abram to be quiet, he answered the call. “What the hell do you want this time?”

“Still no manners, Doe? Are you stubborn or just rude?” Lola asked with that annoying purr of hers.

“Both,” Andrew said. “What do you want?”

“I take it Junior’s not around?”

“In his room sulking, or else I wouldn’t be talking to you, would I?” Andrew leaned against the counter while Abram went to pour a glass of whiskey; he was a bit surprised when his friend didn’t pour some gin as well.

“He used to do that a lot, back when he lived here. Such a quiet mama’s boy. Good thing the bitch is dead, since she was such a bad influence on him.” Andrew was glad he wasn’t having Abram listen in on this call. “Have you thought about what I said last time?”

“Must admit I have my doubts. What will keep you from killing me once I give you what you want?” he asked as he picked up a random jalapeno slice.

Lola laughed at the question. “We don’t waste talent.”

He scoffed at that. “I’ve been dulling my knives on that ‘talent’, or have you forgotten?”

“Oh, snuggums, you’re thinking about the Moriyamas, or Tetsuji, to be exact,” Lola said with mock horror. “The man has no respect for a good employee, I swear! But Nathan? Nathan knows the value of finding someone who’s smart and vicious.”

Andrew accepted the drink from Abram, whose expression had become carefully blank since he’d accepted the call. “What about loyal?”

“You’d still be loyal in your own way – it’s really in Junior’s best interest if he comes over now, before things get really nasty,” Lola argued. “Bring him to us now and he won’t be hurt too much.”

He had to set the glass down before he threw it. “How much is ‘too much’?”

“Well, he has to be taught a lesson,” Lola cooed. “Some things can’t be forgiven. But we’ll put much of that bad behavior down to what the bitch taught him, her and her family. That’s if he comes now. If he waits too much longer, then Nathan won’t have any say in what happens to his boy. Then it’ll be in Riko’s hands, and I don’t think you want that for your pretty little ‘Abram’.”

“I need to think about this,” Andrew said, his voice dispassionate even though he was filled with fury at the thought of either Nathan Wesninski or Riko ever touching Abram.

“Don’t think too long,” Lola warned, for once her voice devoid of the cloying coos and purrs. “I’m serious, Nathanial doesn’t have much longer if he wants to be given any sort of reprieve, and neither do you or your cousin. Think fast, Doe.” Then she hung up.

He barely managed to put the phone down without slamming it into the marble countertop, then picked up the glass so he could toss back the whiskey in a couple of swallows. The entire time, Abram gazed at him while barely blinking.

“That well?”

“I believe there will be one more phone call, where I’ll ‘agree’,” he warned his friend. “Things will happen fast.” He set the glass down again as he stared at Abram. “You can say ‘no’.”

Abram was quiet for a moment while he chewed on his bottom lip, then came closer to Andrew; after a moment, Andrew shifted his legs apart to allow Abram to stand between them and draped his arms around Abram’s hips.

“I’m doing this,” Abram said, his voice quiet but fervent. “They’ve hurt us long enough, it’s time we make them feel the same pain.”

"We don't know who they'll send, or if they'll want me to do something to prove it's not a trick," Andrew warned. "You heard what she thinks of me and our relationship." He tightened his arms around Abram's hips; there was only so much he was willing to do to prove that he was a 'traitor'. "Might have to beat you up a little."

That earned him a slight, sardonic smile as Abram held up his hands in a silent query, then placed them on Andrew's chest after a curt nod. "You'll finally get that bonus pay after all."

"I'll savor the day." Andrew skimmed his right hand up Abram's back to card his fingers in the hair above his idiot's nape. "We'll figure things out beforehand."

"Hmm." Abram closed his eyes and let his head roll back a little. "It'll have to look good. If it doesn't, they'll be suspicious." His eyes cracked open a little. "You don't want them to be suspicious, not right away. You need to get close enough to make it work."

Andrew had asked Abram about _his_ acting skills, but this plan would require Andrew’s, too. Would require him to pretend to do something he could never imagine willingly doing, would require him pretending to go back on his word. Would require him to make it look as if he was betraying someone he had promised to protect. Only it wasn’t so much ‘pretending’ - from the little he knew about Lola, from the phone calls and what Abram had told him, she _would_ make him hurt Abram to prove himself. "We don't-"

“I trust you," Abram said, before Andrew could offer to call off the plan. "I _trust_ you," he repeated. "This is the best chance we have at getting one of their important people."

The breath caught in Andrew's throat upon hearing those words, his fingers clenched in Abram's hair and his arm tightened around Abram's waist before he could force himself to relax his muscles. Yet the idiot didn't pull away or react, he just stood there looking at Andrew with some unfathomable expression which brought back that unnerving contentment.

_This_ was why Andrew allowed him so close, why he kept coming back after fumbling around and hitting up against their various issues. Because of that 'I trust you' and those 'thank yous'. Because of the pizza waiting to be cooked and all the breakfasts despite the cursing and banging skillets and fire alarms going off.

Because Abram was doing everything he could to make something that had terrified him at first into a home, and to make Andrew a part of it. Andrew, who never really had a home before, not where he could be himself. Nicky had tried in Columbia, but there had always been Tilda between Andrew and Aaron, had always been secrets, and Kevin had pushed Andrew toward something he hadn't wanted.

Now Andrew was going to do something to protect what he'd found here. "Just be prepared to deal with your uncle having a heart attack when he sees you afterward. And if he gives me any shit? I'm stabbing him."

That earned him a strained laugh from Abram. "Oh hell, maybe we should have waited to go away, I think we're going to need to do it again after this." Abram rubbed at his eyes for a couple of seconds. "He's going to be _unbearable_."

That was an understatement. Andrew enjoyed a few dark thoughts about the bastard before he pushed his idiot away. "I'm hungry."

"Why am I the only one who knows how to work the oven?" Abram complained even as he went over to where Andrew's pizza was sitting out.

"Don't you enjoy feeling useful?"

"Not as much as I'd enjoy seeing you do something for once," Abram muttered as he started the pizza baking.

"I'm thinking that I won't have much trouble 'pretending' to beat you up," Andrew said while he refilled his glass with whiskey, and wasn't surprised at the rude gesture directed his way.

He drank while Abram fixed his own pizza, and the two of them worked through what Abram was willing to endure in order to convince his father's people that Andrew was switching sides. Unsurprisingly, he was willing to put up with a lot as long as it didn't involve broken bones or permanent damage. It went without saying that neither of them were going to pretend to do anything without consent, that there was only so far they could take that little act if Lola or whoever Wesninski sent really did think that Andrew was into hurting Abram for sex.

"You have to remember who you're dealing with," Abram explained. "My father and his people use fear and pain to rein in the people in his territory. Why do you think he uses the weapons he does?" He looked at the slice of pizza he was eating and then set it down on the plate. "It leaves an impression, seeing him swing around a cleaver or an ax. To see Lola or Plank come at you with knives when a gun is quicker and easier," he said as he shuddered and rubbed at the scars hidden beneath his sweater. "So they're going to see if you're the same. If you're someone they can deal with on that level. From what you've shown so far? They must think you are because of how you've reacted to the last couple of threats, but they'll want to be certain."

Andrew picked up a slice of the now neglected pizza. "They think that was me being all psycho like them? They haven't seen _anything_."

"So reassuring. Yet I'm the one being questioned about what's in the rubbish bin." Abram propped his chin up on his left palm. "Have you considered cutting back on all the sugar or something? Switching up the diet to something a little healthier? Might work wonders on that delightful personality of yours."

"Touch my carbs and _you'll_ be in the garbage," Andrew promised.

"Oh yes, you'll get along together just fine." Abram rolled his eyes as he sat up. "Makes me wonder why I have to be there for the thing."

"Because you're my 'nice to meet you, sorry for all the blood I'm about to get on the grout' gift, _babe_ ," Andrew told him.

"Oh, sure, you worry about _their_ grout, I see how you are, _hon_. I think the spark is gone."

"There's a nice big fireplace in the other room," Andrew offered as he helped himself to another slice of pizza. "Go make yourself comfortable in it and I'll get that spark going again."

"You're going to fit right in, 'snuggums'," Abram said in an American accent, which made Andrew stop eating and stare at him for several seconds while the idiot went about doing the dishes. That had been... huh. That had been something different. Andrew wasn't certain if he liked it.

He finished the pizza while he mulled that over; when he was done, he got up and dropped the dirty dishes in the sink, which made Abram sigh and call him a prat, British accent back and a gleam of anger in his blue eyes. Feeling as if things had returned to normal, Andrew went to grab some ice cream to eat while he found a movie for them to watch.

He told himself that warm, almost tingling sensation in his chest was probably just heartburn.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> There you have it. This really did turn into a 'relationship' chapter on me. o.O Some down time after what happened in the last one, and I think you can figure out the next chapter is going to be a bundle of fluffy kittens. NOT. 
> 
> Ah well.
> 
> I just want time to write. People keep dragging me off to DO things. BAH. 
> 
> As always, the comments and kudos are appreciated!  
> *******


	14. Running With The Wolves

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. This chapter. It's going to be rough. Let's just say there's probably going to be some triggers in this one - if you want to know, you can message me on tumblr (nekojitachan) and I'll let you know. Don't get out the pitchforks until the end, but it's not the semi-fluff of last week. Oh no....
> 
> Seriously, no pitchforks (oh hell, poor Abram...).
> 
> Oh! And once again, much thanks to Huntwodh for the beta. Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> *******

*******

Andrew sat in the living room watching a rather amusing interview with an increasingly uncomfortable Boyd-Wilds discussing Kevin's drinking problem with a dogged interviewer; he had to give the backliner credit in that he wasn't throwing Day under the bus like a few other Foxes had done, Boyd had the courtesy to go on about how it couldn't have been easy for Day, growing up without his mother and with Tetsuji as a parental figure (actually, that was a nice dig there) and the pressure to be an Exy star. There even was a veiled comment about his old hand injury. Andrew had to wonder if Renee or Reynolds had coached him a bit, but Boyd had always been a decent guy, if a pain in the ass. He wasn't so nice when talking about the other 'Raven' players caught up in the scandal, though.

The recent footage they showed of Kevin made it apparent that he was starting to buckle under the pressure, what with the dark circles under his eyes and the ashen cast to his skin. No confident smiles for the camera, no smug persona, and did Riko appear a bit miffed at his side or what? No sign of Tetsuji, either. What a shame.

The Barons had lost their last game, too. Not by much, but Kevin was breaking down on the court.

It shouldn't be much longer until Renee's plan worked.

While Andrew watched the ongoing mess that was Kevin's life, Abram worked in the kitchen. He was busy with something that Zhou had sent, occupied for the last couple of hours but confident that he'd finish it up before dinner. It was something to keep him out of trouble while Andrew waited for Lola to call back.

Once the coverage shifted to soccer, Andrew turned off the television and picked up his latest book, but didn't get too far into it before his phone and Abram's chirped to let them know that someone had approached the house without disabling the alarm system. Andrew was out of the chair in an instant and yelled at Abram to stay in the kitchen while he ran toward the coat rack, where he'd hung up his gun in its holster, right before the doorbell rang for the front door.

Whoever was paying them an unwelcome visit was polite, he'd give them that, right before he opened the door with the gun held at his side.

Lloyd had the gall to beam at him from the crack in the door. "Hello!" When Andrew shoved the gun in his face, he rolled his eyes. "That's not necessary."

"I disagree. Go away."

"Abram," the agent shouted, "call off your guard dog, we need to talk."

Andrew glared when he heard his idiot's footsteps approach from behind. "Do as he says," Abram said, his tone quiet and displeased. "His body lying out there will attract attention."

A good point; Andrew kept the weapon visible as he stepped back and allowed Lloyd inside, who sighed and shook his head while he began to unbutton his coat. "You know why that would be a very bad idea, Abram."

"Then why did you come here?" Abram stood beside Andrew and cocked his head to the side. "My understanding is that we're even now, so why are you here?"

"Because I need something else from you."

"Go away before I really do shoot you," Andrew said while he removed the safety from the Glock.

Now Lloyd appeared a bit put out as he held up his hands, yet he still kept his attention focused on Abram. "Look, you can't deny that things are getting a bit... _tense_ between your family and the Moriyamas right now. I would think that you'd want me to owe you a favor."

The bastard knew just how to work Abram, Andrew had to give him that. He could see Abram attempt to stand firm for all about five or six seconds, then give a slight nod of his head. "What do you need?"

To give the spook credit, Lloyd didn't appear smug just then, his expression merely smoothed out as he reached into his no-brand overcoat to pull out another fucking hard drive. "Same as before, translate what's being said on here. I'll be back in a few hours to pick it up." Something flicked across his face too fast for Andrew to catch when Abram accept the device. "And keep quiet about it."

"I'm doing my best to never remember _anything_ about what's on here, you don't have to worry about that," Abram said with obvious distaste as he walked away. Andrew waited until he'd retreated into the office before he spoke up.

"Why him? You employ how many people, why him?" he asked as he finally lowered the gun with the safety back on.

"Because it's an internal matter," Lloyd admitted. "And that's all I'm going to tell you. He does this for me, and he can call in a favor." He paused in buttoning up his coat to give Andrew an assessing look. "He's wasted on this stuff, you do know that? Both of you are. You should be playing that stupid game professionally and he should be on my team, all safe and sound in an office. It's time to grow up and stop playing at being the bad guys. Think about him, at the least."

Andrew held open the door for the bastard. "Any day now," he said while motioning outside.

"I'm serious," Lloyd continued even as he stepped forward. "When his family can't protect him anymore? Remember what I said. There are some places where the Moriyamas can't reach."

Andrew wondered what meds they'd put him on for beating the shit out of a government agent, and thought it might almost be worth it. "If he wanted to be owned by you, he would have signed up already."

"One has to admire his loyalty, it's part of the reason I have my eye on him. It may come down to someone he trusts telling him what's best for him," Lloyd said before he walked out the door.

For a moment, Andrew was almost tempted to go through with what the bastard had suggested, just to hear what names Abram would call him since he was certain they would be inventive. As it was, he went to pour himself a drink, since it appeared it would be a long night.

He'd just attempted to get back into the damn book when his phone went off again, that time with an incoming call. Seeing the U.S. number, he braced himself for an unpleasant conversation. "And here I was thinking that all this day needed was a truly lousy way to end."

"I'm beginning to think that you don't like me, Doe," Lola said with a hurt tone which Andrew knew was fake.

"Does anyone?"

"Like I said, smart and vicious. You're wasted on the wrong team, which brings me to why I called. Have you thought about my offer, hmm?" Lola asked, her voice that annoying purr once more. "I'm not going to ask again."

"I got that impression from our last talk," Andrew admitted. "Let me see if I have this right - I bring you Abram and that's it, you don't touch Nicky or his husband, you don't harm me and nothing bad happens to Abram."

"Well, nothing _too_ bad happens to Junior," Lola clarified.

"That's not-"

"No, it _is_ acceptable," she interrupted, her voice suddenly harsh. "He's caused a lot of people a lot of grief, he's going to be taught a lesson about running. But in the end, he's not to be damaged too much so he'll be fine." She laughed a little, the sound too cruel for amusement. "You should know by now how tough he is, he'll bounce back soon enough. Gotta give Junior that, he's a tough little shit."

He'd had no choice, had he? Almost all his life, Abram had been beaten down in one form or another, most often by the people who should have protected him. No wonder Abram went to such great lengths to 'protect' the Hatfords, when they were the first ones to take him in and attempt to keep him safe. There was no way that Andrew considered what Mary Hatford had done as keeping her son 'safe'.

"I don't appreciate it when my things get broken,” he said, his voice cold at the thought of what all Lola and Nathan Wesninski had done to Abram in the past.

Lola laughed at that statement. "Ah, snuggums, it's going to be so fun, setting you loose on Riko. Think of it as a necessary evil, all right? Just a little recalibration on your precious 'Abram' and then he's all yours again. Well, Riko has his own ideas on that topic, but what that brat doesn't know won't hurt him."

Riko was never getting near Abram. "Again, I bring you Abram, you leave Nicky and his husband alone and that's it?" he insisted, well aware that he had a part to play.

"I notice that you're not asking about your brother, what's his name? Adam." Andrew was willing to bet that Lola very well knew Aaron's name. "Huh, guess Day still has a few working brain cells left, yeah?" When Andrew continued to remain silent, she sighed. "You bring us Junior and yes, we won't touch your family, we won't hurt the boy _too_ much and nothing will happen to you as long as you don't try anything stupid. First sign of a Hatford, though?" Her voice fell back into that damn purr. "I'm going to have such fun with you."

"Not my type," Andrew said with obvious disgust.

"That's what you say now," she cooed, before losing all trace of coyness. "You'll hear from me soon, so be prepared to move with Junior immediately. Don't think to get smart and trick us, Doe." She hung up without elaborating on that threat.

Well, too bad that he wasn't one to follow directions; he got up to pour himself some more whiskey and allow his temper to settle a little, then called Jamie - he wasn't in the mood to deal with Stuart right then.

"Andrew. I wish I could say it's nice to hear from you, but I don't think this is you calling for an amiable chat," she said, a hint of exhaustion to her husky voice.

At least Abram had one decent family member. "We're set - it sounds like Lola will be here in another day or two, maybe with someone else tagging along," Andrew told her.

Jamie was quiet for almost a minute. "Lola Malcolm." Hate made her voice rough, and Andrew thought he heard something metallic tap in the background - maybe a knife against a hard surface. "It's been a while since I've seen her." The tapping grew louder for a few seconds then stopped. "If this works out, you'll get that new P1 you've been whinging about."

So much better than dealing with Stuart. "You do realize that the bitch is going to test me, right? Abram's willing to go along with it, but it's not going to be pretty," he warned. In other words, no one better give him grief about what he had to do when Abram didn’t care.

The tapping sound was back. "You won't take things too far." It wasn't a question.

"I have to make it look convincing, but no, I work too hard at keeping him in one piece as it is," he stated. "Speaking of which, Lloyd came to the house today."

The tapping sound stopped, only to be followed by muffled swearing. "What for?" Jamie asked, the contained anger evident in her voice.

"What do you think?"

There was more swearing. "Is he doing it?"

Andrew scoffed at the question, which promoted more swearing. "Why?" Jamie asked with obvious displeasure.

"Because he was promised a favor," Andrew told her. A favor for her and the rest of her family, in Abram’s foolish mind.

"Dammit, I told him to be more selfish. This isn't him being selfish." She let out an angry burst of breath.

That sounded like an interesting conversation, and a futile one. "I'll handle the idiot, you work out a welcoming party for Lola and whoever else she brings along. Just don't make it too obvious, since she doesn't want to see any 'Hatfords'."

"Understood." Now it sounded as if Jamie was dragging the knife through something wooden. "Oh, it's going to be so nice, seeing her again. I owe her, after the last time."

Lola certainly brought out the strong emotions, didn't she? "Let me know what you set up, and soon," Andrew told her, and hung up as soon as she agreed. Then he made tea for a certain martyr - who would ever have thought that he would one day be living in an expensive as fuck townhouse in London of all places, with another person, and making them _tea_. Not even Renee had seen that coming, though if she had, she'd win enough money off of the bet to hire a damn carpenter or something for her little charity project. Maybe Bee would have - no, he had to stop thinking about her, stop thinking like that. This was his life now. _He_ was making the decisions, be they good or bad. He didn't need mental pep talks to convince himself of what he was doing, He was here, now, and he was staying. It didn't matter what others thought. It didn't matter what his doubts tried to make him think, deep down. He was here, this was _home_ and he wouldn't let anything take it away, even himself. Especially himself.

If someone as messed up as Abram could fight for it, so could he.

So he finished brewing the damn tea and then went to the office, and opened the door without knocking. The volume was low, but it was enough for him to hear someone pleading in a ragged voice right before they started screaming. Abram paused the video and then buried his face into his trembling hands.

"You need to stop this," Andrew said.

"Only one more to go," the idiot said, his voice as hoarse as the one on the video file a moment before; he sank back in the chair as he rubbed at his wrists for a few seconds then forced himself to lean forward again.

Andrew wanted to ask him if it was worth it, but knew what the fool martyr would answer; instead he put the mug of tea down near the laptop then sat down on the desk. "Fine, then go on."

Abram stared at him as if he hadn't understood what Andrew had just said. "Uhm...."

"Now," Andrew said as he waved his hand at the laptop.

"No." The way Abram said the word made it clear it wasn't up for debate, though he didn't look at Andrew while he picked up the mug of tea. "It would be best if you left now." When Andrew didn't budge, he blew air over the hot beverage. "This is confidential information."

"Then Lloyd should have thought twice about handing it over to a civilian," Andrew pointed out. When Abram continued to fuss with the tea, he huffed. "What don't you want me to see?"

Abram had to set the tea down since his hands had taken to trembling again. "It's not... I told you, these people...." He stopped talking as he took to rubbing at his wrists again, at the _scars_ on his wrists, the darkness back in his eyes as he stared down at the polished wood of the desk.

Andrew felt his stomach twist and wanted to hurt someone very, _very_ much right then. "Stop it. Erase the damn drive, _now_."

"No."

"Then I'll do it." Andrew began to reach for the drive, only to have Abram stop him.

"We could use that favor," his idiot pleaded, his eyes wide and voice soft yet cajoling. "Can't you see? What if something goes wrong? We could use it."

"It's not worth this." Not worth Abram putting himself through this - Jamie was right, the idiot needed to be more fucking selfish.

"You know it is," Abram said, and Andrew hated him for being right. "Just a little longer."

"You don't keep doing this," Andrew swore. "This isn't me controlling you, but you're insane if you think I'm going to stand here and watch you do this to yourself again and again."

Abram's breath hitched as he gazed up at Andrew, then he closed his eyes and bowed his head. The red roots were slowly creeping into the black strands, only so noticeable because of the stark contrast of color. "Okay," he said after several seconds. "We'll figure something else out next time."

"Drink your tea," Andrew told him while he reached out to curl his hand around the back of Abram's neck for a moment. There was so much tension there, too much, but the gesture earned him a flash of a smile and Abram's hands were steady once more when they wrapped around the mug.

He left Abram alone in the office, but refused to close the door when he left. Part of him hated walking away, but he knew his friend wouldn’t let him stay to see those images, wouldn’t let them both suffer through old nightmares even if Abram wasn’t doing it just for his own sake. There was another glass of whiskey and then Andrew forced himself to sit down in the living room and wait for Abram to finish.

It was a very long couple of hours.

During that time, he texted Liliya and asked her for some information, which she was quick to send back without asking any questions.

Bren also texted during the time and asked about food, but Andrew told him that they would manage on their own for the night. When Abram finally came out of the office and set the hard drive down on the kitchen island, Andrew reached out to tuck back the tousled hair falling on his idiot’s face and told him to go soak upstairs; Abram appeared exhausted and eaten up by bad memories, but he allowed Andrew to touch his hair, his cheek for a couple of seconds before slipping away.

Lloyd showed up about twenty minutes after Andrew texted Jamie to tell her that Abram had finished the job for the bastard, once more ringing the doorbell as if he was paying them a social visit. As soon as he stepped into the townhouse, Andrew hit him on the jaw with everything he had, which took the tall spook by surprise.

“You fucking gi-“

He grabbed the bastard and yanked him up onto his knees. “Never again,” Andrew swore through clenched teeth. “I don’t care who the hell you are, you never give Abram something like that again.” The bastard had to know what had been done to Abram, yet he still had made him watch shit like that not once but twice? “That’s why he’ll _never_ work for you.”

Lloyd wiped at his bleeding mouth with the back of his hand while he gave a garbled chuckle. “Don’t be so sure, you crazy fuck. All it’ll take is him needing something badly enough. Now where the hell is my drive?”

Andrew barely resisted the urge to throw another punch, but he wanted the bastard out of his home as quickly as possible. With that in mind, he let go of Lloyd’s coat and went to fetch the drive, which he threw at the spook and derived some pleasure out of seeing Lloyd curse as he fumbled to catch it. “Get the fuck out of here.”

He was given a rude gesture as Lloyd tucked the drive into an inner pocket of his coat, but the agent left without saying anything else. The door locked and alarm reset, Andrew went into the kitchen so he could figure out what to make for dinner.

The soup had been heated up and the cheese sandwiches almost done when he heard Abram shuffle into the kitchen. “Ah, am I imagining things?”

“Sit down,” he told the idiot.

“Yes, probably best considering the hallucinations.”

Andrew glanced over his left shoulder to glare at Abram, who was wrapped in his blue robe, hair wet and slicked away from his face. A face which currently bore a bemused expression, rather than the desolate one from before, so he decided to let the remark slide. “Sit.”

He dumped the sandwiches onto a plate and then cut them in half, and poured the potato soup into two bowls. One went in front of Abram, the sandwich plate in the center of the island, and he carried the other bowl to his stool after fetching some spoons.

“So you can cook,” Abram said while he stirred his bowl of soup, his tone one of wonderment. He smelled like the damn shampoo he used, which had a hint of lemongrass and cedar and always made Andrew want to lean in and breathe deep.

“Told you I managed just fine by myself without a bunch of people looking after me.” Andrew picked up a half of grilled cheese with peppers in it and tore off a bite, his teeth snapping shut with a bit more force than necessary once it was in his mouth.

“Yet you’re more than willing to have them do it now.” Abram managed most of a wry smile for a moment, before it faltered as he set the spoon back in the bowl. “I’m not sure I can-“

“Eat,” Andrew told him. “Look at me. Look around you. Do I need to talk to you about stupid shit to remind you of where you are? _Eat_.” He wasn’t going to let the darkness drag Abram down, not when his idiot had fought so hard to move forward these last few weeks. Not when it was about to get worse before it got better.

There was a flare of anger in Abram’s eyes for a moment, which was good. Anger was good. Then Abram scoffed a little and took to stirring his soup. “Bet Stuart makes better sandwiches than you,” he said as he eyed the plate of them.

“It’s so sad when you go all delusional,” Andrew remarked in-between bites.

“Why would I want to live in a fantasy world when the real one is so pleasant?” Abram asked as he picked up half of a sandwich. He gazed evenly at Andrew while he had a bite… at least for the first couple of seconds and then what could only be described as an expression of horror crossed his face as he chewed. To give him credit, he finished chewing and swallowed the bite, but he slowly set the rest of the sandwich down and was quick to have some soup as if to wash the flavor out of his mouth.

“Something wrong?” Andrew asked as he reached over for the rest of the sandwich.

“Ju-jam. You put _jam_ in there. In _grilled cheese_ ,” Abram stated as he rested his forehead onto the palm of his right hand as if looking for strength.

Ah, that’s where that sandwich had gone. Andrew nodded in satisfaction as he finished off the half and then reached for the other.

“My god, who _does_ that?”

“Tastes fine to me,” Andrew said as he broke off part of the sandwich and tossed it into his mouth.

Abram sighed as he ran his fingers through his hair then sat up on the stool. “I’ve eaten some seriously dodgy tinned goods without being able to heat them up because… well, because,” he said as he slid his hands into the opposite sleeves of the blue robe as if to warm them up. “I’ve eaten more peanut butter sandwiches and ramen than I can count, because they were cheap and quick. Expiration and sell by dates were things to be ignored, and mold didn’t necessarily mean something was bad.” Andrew stilled while his idiot talked, because much of what Abram said wasn’t anything new, wasn’t anything shocking. It _should_ have been, but it wasn’t. “And I can honestly tell you, I’m not eating another sandwich like _that_.”

“Wuss,” was all Andrew said after a few seconds.

“Whatever.” Abram merely shook his head. “How do you not ooze syrup or something when you’re cut? Your blood has to be half sugar by now.”

“Shut up and eat your soup,” Andrew ordered before having another piece of grilled cheese sandwich.

“Seriously, jam on grilled cheese?” Abram muttered even as he picked up the spoon again. He managed to get about halfway through the bowl before something, probably a stray thought, made him drop the spoon and get up from the stool in a rush to head into the living room. Once there, he stood around as if uncertain about what to do next, and Andrew left him alone for a couple of minutes while he finished eating.

When Abram hadn’t retreated up to his bedroom or sat down, Andrew gathered the dishes to dump them into the sink then went into the living room, to where Abram was standing in front of the fireplace. “Sit down or go upstairs,” he said, voice a little rough while he thought about how he should have punched Lloyd harder, should have hit him a few more times. A lot more times.

“I don’t – don’t want to go to my room,” Abram admitted with a ragged voice, the darkness back in his eyes and his hands once more tucked into the sleeves of his robes. On second thought, he was probably checking that his knives were still there, Andrew thought. “Don’t want to lie down on the bed right now.”

Andrew studied him for a moment then went around him so he could start a fire; he wondered what he would do to amuse himself when it was summer, but decided to worry about things then. One thing at a time, he told himself, and once the fire was going, he turned toward Abram. “Sit alone or together?”

The idiot needed to think about that, before he went over to the couch where he sat while spreading out the blanket in a quiet invitation for Andrew to join him. Doing just that, Andrew grabbed the remote so they could watch a movie, and was surprised when after settling down, he felt Abram inch over until he pressed against Andrew’s left side.

“This all right?”

Andrew draped the blanket around the both of them before he searched through the channels. “I should ask you that.” When Abram went to pull away, he clicked his tongue. “It’s fine.”

“It’s you,” Abram said as he leaned a little more against Andrew. “Sometimes I get so damn tired of being reminded of what people will do to each other,” he said after about a minute.

“It’s a cruel world,” Andrew reminded his idiot before giving up on the television

“Not so much the world, but the people in it,” Abram argued, which made Andrew huff a little in agreement.

“Speaking of cruel people, Lola called.” He paused when he felt Abram tense against him. “I expect her to want her ‘present’ in the next day or two.”

“Wonderful.” Abram slouched down a bit more with his legs tucked up on the couch beside him so he could rest his head on Andrew’s shoulder; it should be annoying, but all Andrew could think of just then was that here was someone who wanted to be next to him _only_ for comfort, for the sense of safety that he provided. He had no doubt that if he asked ‘yes or no’ just then, he would be told ‘no’ and Abram would retreat to his bedroom despite the nightmares waiting for him there. That Abram would retreat up there if _Andrew_ said ‘no’.

Yet they both sat there while the fire crackled in the background, Abram taking comfort in Andrew for some insane reason, and that damn contentment back in Andrew because he could give such a simple thing by just _being_ there. Out of everything that anyone had asked of him, this was both so much and so little.

“I wonder if she’ll bring her brother, or Jackson Plank,” Abram continued while he hitched the blanket higher up his chest, almost to his chin. “Or someone new. I’m sure there’s been some changes over the last fifteen years.”

“But not your father?” Andrew found himself reaching for the curl of hair that had fallen onto Abram’s face.

“Hmm, no, I don’t think he can leave the country, he should still be on probation.” Abram opened his eyes at Andrew’s touch, but didn’t tense up and even managed a half smile. “Don’t go cursing us.”

“Just asking.” Andrew had a feeling that if Nathan Wesninski would show up, he’d end up dealing with all of the Hatfords whether he liked it or not.

Sensing that they were skirting some dark topics – well, darker - he moved on to something else. “Looks like Renee’s plan is working. Shouldn’t be too much longer now before Kevin ends up in rehab.”

Abram shivered a little. “Mandatory pysch sessions.” Then he opened his eyes and lifted his head to look at Andrew. “Sorry.”

Andrew shrugged to show that he didn’t take offense at it. “No, they’re shitty, I agree. Only got through them,” barely, “because I had no choice.” That and because of Bee. Since he owed a truth or two, he confessed something he thought might amuse his idiot. “I only got into Exy because of the damn therapy. They thought doing sports was a good program for us, gave us something to do, build up self-esteem and all that shit.”

Abram once more lifted his head to look at Andrew, and that time his smile was genuine. “That’s… all right, now it makes sense.” He even managed a faint laugh. “Whose idea was it for you to play goalkeeper?”

“Mine,” Andrew admitted. “Figured I’d have less to do there than elsewhere on the court.”

“Of course.” Abram’s right hand came out from beneath the blanket and ghosted over Andrew’s face in a phantom caress; Andrew caught it, intending to bat it aside, yet somehow their fingers tangled together. “No wonder you’re so good at it, though,” Abram said while he allowed his hand to be held captive. “It’s what you’re best at, protecting what’s yours.”

“Tell me that after this whole Lola mess,” Andrew said without thinking, and then the words sunk in. He only realized it when Abram’s fingers tightened around his, and waited for some other reaction, waited for the man to pull away or freak out. However, all Abram did was continue to smile and rest his head back on Andrew’s shoulder.

It took a couple of minutes for Andrew to find his voice. “What did I say about me not being a piece of furniture?”

“Don’t want to go upstairs,” Abram repeated.

“Fine, but you’re back to cooking tomorrow,” Andrew said. “I want another frittata.”

“Grilled cheese with _jam_ ,” Abram complained. “Grape jam at that. You’ll get your bloody frittata, you heathen.”

There was a sleepy complaint when Andrew reached over for his book a little later, and not long after that Abram was asleep. Andrew struggled to stay awake until the first nightmare, when his friend woke with a faint gasp, his fingers clenched hard around Andrew’s and body coiled tight as if prepared to run at any moment.

“Sorry,” Abram murmured as he curled in on himself on the couch while Andrew got up to restart the fire.

“Go back to sleep,” Andrew told him. “I’ll be on the chair.” It was clear there was only so much him being next to Abram was going to do that night, but at least his idiot would know that he wasn’t alone.

Abram looked at him with those damn big eyes of his then nodded. “Thank you.”

“I’m stabbing Lloyd if he tries to give you another drive to translate.”

“Make sure it’s a place where he’ll bleed out slowly,” Abram mumbled as he tucked the blanket around him. “And painful as hell.”

Maybe the idiot was recovering after all.

*******

The worst part about waiting… was, well, the _waiting_. Was how long a normal day could drag out, whenever you expected something to happen. It was bad enough if it was something good, but when you wanted something awful to come along and be done with? For the pain and torment to be over? It was so much worse.

Andrew wasn’t telling Abram anything about what was going on, other than it should happen soon, so his reactions could be genuine. He didn’t have a problem with that, with anything that gave the plan a chance for success. He’d dealt with his father’s people before, with _Lola_. Had run from them for several years, had watched them do their best to take down the Hatfords for even longer. He knew how vicious they could be, how they pounced upon the slightest slip, so anything that would give them a good chance at putting an end to all of this? Abram would go along with willingly, would take the hits without complaint.

Nothing happened the day after Andrew had told him that he had ‘agreed’ to Lola’s demands, which wasn’t that unexpected. It was the second day, when Abram was doing his best to focus on some documents that Sabine had sent, that Andrew showed up dressed in a pair of jeans and a sweater, a somewhat ‘casual’ look for his friend. “Come on, we’re going for a drive.”

“I see.” Abram saved the file he’d been working on then powered down his laptop; for a moment he worried about things like brushing his teeth since he’d been drinking coffee, but then scoffed at himself. No need to make himself presentable for _Lola_. What he did do was go upstairs to change his jeans and slip a tiny ceramic switchblade knife that Liz had given him into the leather ‘brand’ tag; if his hands were cuffed behind him, he could reach it and use it to do some damage since it was sharp. Small, but sharp – it was all on what he sliced or stabbed.

The jeans he wore were also tight, to make them difficult to take off, the sweater heavy and thick, his boots reinforced. When he came downstairs, Andrew’s eyes flickered over him before nodding once in approval, and then his friend reached for him with deliberate intent. Abram nodded before he found himself kissed hard enough to bruise his lips, which left him wishing he’d brushed his teeth after all. Also, that they could stay the hell home and do something much, much more enjoyable.

Unfortunately, the ‘fun’ things would have to wait. A slight moan slipped free when Andrew pulled away, his ‘emotionless’ mask on his face except for something bright and heated in those hazel eyes of his, and then it was time to leave.

It was a quiet drive to the wherever Lola had set up the scene for Andrew’s ‘betrayal’, somewhere down around Grays, from the looks of it. Abram did his best not to fidget during the drive, and ended up ‘smoking’ several cigarettes during it.

They finally came across what appeared to be an abandoned bus depot or something like that, with a gravel parking lot into which Andrew pulled his beloved McLaren with a grimace of distaste. There were a couple of other vehicles parked around, nothing which stood out too much – or at least, nothing that would stand out too much if it the situation was normal. Abram did notice that several of the vehicles were SUVs with tinted windows, which were handy if one had to haul away some unwilling individuals… or bodies.

“This ends with us going home,” Andrew said as he turned off the McLaren’s engine. “Don’t forget that.”

“I know,” Abram said before he took a deep breath. “Give me a moment.” He needed to focus his thoughts on Andrew, so his reaction appeared genuine when they walked in there. After a few seconds, they got out of the car.

“I don’t give a shit,” Andrew said, as if continuing a conversation that they’d been having in the car. “I’m not paid enough to do it.”

“Do you not understand the concept of ‘hired help’?” Abram told the man with a hint of a mocking smile. “Get off your ass and buy the damn groceries. Considering how much you eat, it’s only fair.” He smiled a little more when Andrew gave him the finger. “Don’t get me started on you doing the floors, too.”

“How about I help you out by breaking your jaw?” Andrew’s expression was murderous just then – well, murderous for _him_. Anyone else would assume Andrew was mildly annoyed until they caught the heat in his eyes, but Abram knew better.

“What did I say about cutting back on the sugar?” Abram paused as soon as they entered the derelict building and looked around. “I thought you said that-” he stumbled forward, his hands sliding against the dirty floor when pain exploded along his back and knocked him down.

“Shut. Up,” Andrew said, his voice devoid of emotion.

“Wha- what the-” There was more pain, that time from Andrew backhanding him across the face. Abram couldn’t help it as he lashed out at his friend when instincts took over and managed to get a hit in, a punch to the stomach that made Andrew grunt, and then fingers tight in his hair made him gasp, made him pause just for a moment.

“ _Stay down like the bitch you are_ ,” Andrew said in Romanian, and Abram was lost as the words sunk in, as all he could think about was what those hands would make him do, how his head was being pulled back and around and there would be a knife at his throat to make him open his mouth and-

And there was more pain, only that time to his stomach, to his head, again and again, and Abram came back to himself to find Andrew, _Andrew_ , kicking him as he was hunched over on the dirty floor. He struggled to breathe as he lashed out again, the motion feeble, and was kicked onto his back then his left hand stepped on, which provoked a weak cry of pain from him.

Before he could move, Andrew was on him, was yanking him up on his knees and smacking him across the face again, which left Abram too dazed to do anything but try to breathe. “ _Don’t let go of the fight yet_ ,” Andrew said that time as he yanked off Abram’s coat; his Ukrainian was atrocious, but Abram could understand it. Better yet, he _knew_ those words, he remembered them, just like the awful ones Andrew had said before. They were the ones Liliya had told Abram while he’d struggled to remain conscious after Vasali had fled. Now Andrew said them in a derisive tone while he dragged Abram’s hands behind his back and bound them with some sort of ties, but they helped to center Abram just like they had in the past.

There was a clapping sound and a familiar, terrible giggle when Andrew hit Abram once more, knocking him back onto the dirty floor; Abram had a feeling that if he managed to get out of this without a concussion that he could consider himself lucky. “You do like to play rough, don’t you Doe?”

Abram allowed the dread he felt at being bound in Lola’s presence to well up as the woman drew near. “No. No, no, _no_ ,” he moaned as he did his best to rock up onto his knees, only to fall onto his left side. “You- you didn’t!” he said to Andrew, the words coming out more as panicked pleading than a shout.

Andrew’s face was that awful blank mask as he toed Abram in the left thigh. “Shut up.”

Lola giggled again as she came closer, dressed in a black fur coat and a red dress with matching heels, her dark hair falling loose around her face; she had aged well, save for a scar along her chin, but then, the psychotic bitch hadn’t lived on the run like Abram’s mother, had she? Hadn’t lived every day of her life stressed out and consumed by worry and fear.  On either side of Lola were two tall men who appeared similar enough to be related, their complexions swarthy in the building’s dim light but eyes pale green and short hair a reddish brown. Beside the three of them, Abram caught glimpse of several other people lurking in the shadows. “I thought you didn’t want Junior to be hurt?”

“I said I don’t like it when others mess with my things,” Andrew said while he reached down and once more grabbed Abram by the hair to pull him up onto his knees; Abram fought not to be swamped by the awful memories once more, but understood that his friend was doing it because it brought out genuine panic in him. “He’s one of my ‘things’.”

“Fu-fuck you, _traitor_ ,” Abram hissed, and didn’t even try to brace himself for the hit that knocked him back to the floor. “Neh- never should have tru-ah!” He curled up from the latest kick and fought to breathe through the pain.

“Is he crying yet?” Lola asked. “I want to see him cry.”

“I don’t care what you want,” Andrew said, his voice just as emotionless as his expression; while he spoke, there was the rustle of fabric and then the sound of something hard hitting the ground. Abram managed to unfurl a little to watch his friend stomp on his new phone and just barely managed not to sigh in exasperation, in part because it would hurt too much.

The man on Lola’s left took a step forward. “We could have used that.”

“No, you couldn’t,” Andrew said. “They have enough shit on there to keep track of him that it wouldn’t have done you any good.” Then he took out his phone and did the same with it.

“Hmm, not bad,” Lola said with a hint of approval. “Gabe, go check Junior for any surprises.” The one who’d spoken up came over to Abram, which made Andrew push up the sleeves of his coat and sweater to reveal his arm guards. “Relax, Doe, he’s making sure that Junior can’t cause any trouble, not having fun just yet. While we’re at it, Elias, check Doe, too.”

Abram did his best to struggle when the man hauled him up onto his knees, but Andrew was there once again to grab him by his hair. “ _Be quiet_ ,” he said, that time in Russian, and again in the horrible accent. Abram did what he could to focus about that, on when his friend had learned such things while large, rough hands patted him down, as his own armbands were cut from his bound arms. He was forced onto his feet, his battered body protesting the entire time and stomach rebelling at the motion, and moaned as hands stroked along his ass and legs, as they cupped him for a moment. Andrew’s fingers tightened around the back of his neck and dug into his shoulders as the Russian words were repeated.

“Fuh-fuck off,” Abram slurred, well aware that it would earn him another hit, but welcoming the pain if it got the man to leave him alone. He was sent crashing to the floor and threw up the bit of coffee still in his stomach, but Gabe went back over to Lola and gave her Abram’s weapons while the other one, Elias, gave Andrew a quick pat down as well. Andrew once again appeared murderous during the process.

“That’s it, he’s clean.”

“So’s the other midget, except for some knives. Do you want them?”

“No, let him keep them for now.” Lola looked down at the ruined armbands that Gabe had handed to her for a moment before she let them drop to the floor. The sound of her heels clacking filled the cavernous space, and warned Abram that he needed to brace himself for something nasty about to happen. Something _nastier_.

“What did I say about touching my things?” Andrew asked as he stepped closer to Abram.

“Oh, don’t worry, Doe, I won’t touch. Well, not much.” Lola hunched down closer to Abram, seemingly uncaring about her fur dragging in the dirt. “Oh, just look you, Junior.” She reached out to grab his chin and tsked when he attempted to pull away, her long nails digging into his face as she made him stay still. “You look so much like your father, you know that, right?” He shuddered at her words, which made her smile. “So handsome you are, no wonder they all like to fuck you.” She grinned up at Andrew for a moment. “Your daddy’s looks and your mother’s bitch temperament, quite the mix.”

He had a bad feeling about where this was going. “Shut the hell up ‘bout my mum,” he said, his voice weak from the pain in, well, _everywhere_ , but particularly his ribs.

Lola’s nails dug into his face some more, and he fought not to wince when he felt blood trickle down his jaw. “What, about the _bitch_? The one who stole your father’s property and ran away? Who shamed him?” Lola’s face twisted with rage and her nails dug into Abram’s skin even more. “You’re just like her, a troublesome little bitch best served with a bullet in the head, but there’s still a use for you, _Junior_ ,” Lola hissed. “So here’s where you’re going to learn your place and learn it well.” She let go of his jaw to backhand him, then had to deal with Andrew catching her hand.

“What did I say?”

“Oh, snuggums, you need to learn to share,” Lola purred. “But now’s when you can start proving yourself,” she said with a shark-like smile. “I’m not about to put up with this mouthy bastard all the way back to the States, so we need to… soften him a little. We’d heard those Romanians had made a good start on it, so help finish the job.” She waved her hand at Abram. “You should have a good idea of what to do.”

Abram hated it when his bad feelings were proven right.

Andrew stared at her for a few seconds before he scoffed. “I’m not putting on a show for you to get off on.”

Lola’s smile grew even wider. “Then Gabe or Elias will do it. Won’t you, boys?”

Gabe shook his head. “Not into that gay shit.”

Before Abram could get his hopes up, the other American stepped forward while shrugging off his leather coat to reveal a chest as equally impressive as Andrew’s. “I don’t care either way, not like I’m dating him.”

“Such a lovely attitude, Elias.” Lola waved him on to Abram. “Make him cry a lot, I want to see it.” While she spoke, Abram shot Andrew a quick look and shook his head, just a tiny amount. “And you’ll watch, because what’s it to you, right?” She grinned at Andrew, who continued to give her an impassive look back. When he didn’t say anything, she once more looked over at Elias. “Lots of tears, I want him _broken_.”

The man gave her a disdainful look. “I’m not doing this to get him off. Of course he’s going to be crying.” Then he grinned. “And screaming,” he added while he dragged Abram to his feet. “Scream a lot for me, and maybe it’ll go faster,” he said as he used a knife to cut at Abram’s sweater.

When Abram saw Andrew’s hands clench into fists, he did his best to summon up a mouthful of spit, which he aimed at his friend while he made a weak kick at Elias. “ _You diseased, **impotent** pig_ ,” he shouted at Andrew in Russian. “ _Useless, **impotent** coward_.” He wasn’t certain how much of the language his friend had picked up, but it was clear that Andrew had been holding back on him. Abram hoped that Andrew could understand what he was saying, what he meant to say, especially since they didn’t know if Lola had anyone around who might know the language. Considering how much the Moriyamas used the Romanians and Russians, they couldn’t take it for granted.

He didn’t need Andrew doing something stupid right then, something that would get them killed. Something like trying to protect him while taking on a room full of armed people all by his suicidal, moronic self.

Andrew stared at him for a moment, his eyes dead in a way that stole away Abram’s breath more than the fact that Elias was tearing off his sweater, and then turned toward Lola. “No permanent damage. Remember our deal.”

Lola was quiet for a moment while she regarded him intently as if sizing him up, as if looking for a _weakness_ , while Abram palmed the ceramic blade before Elias got to his jeans or the panic made him freeze up, and then scoffed. “You’re really going to let him do it.” She sounded surprised, as if she had expected Andrew to object.

“No permanent damage,” Andrew repeated, that time with a bit of heat. “Or else I’ll castrate the asshole.”

“Elias, no permanent damage,” Lola called out in the voice that had always made Nathan’s people obey her in a heartbeat. “Well, other than the mental kind.”

In the process of choking Abram to get him to stop kicking, Elias sighed. “Fine.” He punched Abram in the left temple instead, which almost made Abram black out; the bite of the blade into the fingers of his injured left hand kept him conscious, but barely. “Struggle some more, it makes it fun for me.”

“Fu-“ Abram could barely speak anymore, between the panic and the pain. He started to hyperventilate when he was shoved against a wall and hands tugged at his jeans. “No. No! _No_!”

“Is he crying already? Turn his face this way,” Lola ordered.

Abram struggled to push away the weight shoving him against the wall when he felt cold air hit his legs, but his head was slammed into the concrete. Only the pain biting into his wrists and his fingers kept him centered, kept him conscious, that and the sight of Andrew stepping into his view. The sight of Andrew, his expression furious instead of blank, and the slight nod he gave Abram.

“ _Now_ ,” he said in Mandarin.

It took a moment for the word to register to Abram, as dazed and filled with pain he was, but as soon as he felt hands grab onto his hips, fingers dig into his flesh, he slid the knife along his blood-slick fingers and then slashed out. The same time that the bastard pressed against his back shrieked, Andrew was in motion. There were loud sounds and screaming, but Abram kept slashing behind him until the weight was gone, and as he slumped down, he struggled to saw at the ties around his wrist.

He’d just about got free when he felt a light touch on his right shoulder; he attempted to jerk around and would have gone careening to the floor yet again, but Andrew steadied him while moving him away from Elias’ twitching body. “You’re a damn mess,” his friend said while there was still the occasional burst of gunfire. He reached for the tiny knife in Abram’s bloodied hands and cut the ties, then shrugged out of his coat to drape it over Abram’s shoulders. “Can you stand?”

“I… a moment.” Abram didn’t know if he could do it for long, but he wanted his pants back on. He _needed_ his pants back on. Andrew held on to him long enough for him to tug them back over his hips, his hands trembling the entire time, and then he slumped against his friend, so tired and aching and… he buried his face in Andrew’s chest and just _shook_ , his hands fisted in Andrew’s sweater.

Andrew’s hands brushed against his back as if uncertain about what to do, and then finally settled, one on the nape of his neck and the other on the small of his back. “I’m so-”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Abram told him. “It’s done, yes?”

“Yes,” Andrew answered. “We have them.”

“All right,” Abram sighed. “We finish this, an’ you take me home.” That was all he wanted just then, to finish it, hand over Lola and whoever those two men were, and then go home. To have Andrew build a fire and make Abram a cup of fucking tea, and call it a night. A bloody week at that point. Maybe get in the awful, ostentatious car and escape for a day or two. To feel as if they had won a victory at last. “Oooh, I don’ feel good,” Abram admitted as he slumped against his friend. He felt awful, but he was safe. Right there with Andrew, he was safe.

“Idiot,” Andrew sighed as his arms tightened around Abram.

“Prat,” Abram murmured, and suddenly things felt all right. Well, except for the nausea and increasing pain and everything. It was all right.

*******

Andrew held on to a battered Abram while Camilo Segers and his people finished securing the drafty old building which Lola Malcolm had selected for the meet-up. He’d gotten a couple good hits on the sadistic bitch and broken a few fingers when he’d caught the flash in the one window which signaled that Camilo’s people were ready to close in, enough to knock her down and keep her out of trouble long enough for things to be wrapped up, for him to focus on Abram.

His friend had taken more of a beating than he had liked during the whole ordeal; Andrew knew that he had to make a good impression to convince Lola that it wasn’t a double-cross right from the start. That he couldn’t pull his punches, so to speak. That was why he’d started on Abram as soon as he’d entered the building, and done his best to knock the fight out of his friend to keep it from dragging out longer than it had. Why he’d asked Liliya for a phrase that would keep Abram from fighting back, despite the awful connotations, because he had to make it look as if he was willing to use his knowledge about Abram against the man, and the less Abram fought back, the better. Then the phrase to help undo the damage that the Romanian one had done, to remind Abram that this was all an illusion.

All of that, only for Lola to go for the throat, for her to push for Andrew to cross a boundary which he never would, to do something that was abhorrent to his very nature. Only the fact that Abram had done his very best to tell Andrew to stand down and that Andrew knew there were people waiting to burst in at any moment had kept him from shoving a knife in the sick bitch’s throat right then and there. Still, it had hurt so _much_ to see that asshole haul Abram away and harm him, to lay hands on him and tear at his clothes then push him against the wall while Andrew had just stood there and let it happen. It had hurt so much to not do anything while that asshole had done those things to Abram.

If Abram hadn’t killed him, Andrew would have, but the asshole wasn’t getting up from a slashed femoral artery, among other things.

Andrew wanted to pull out his knives and deal with everyone in the damn building after the way it had turned out, after having to pretend to be such a sadistic fuck to the one person he didn’t want to hurt, after having to watch others hurt Abram, but now all he had to do was stand there and keep Abram more or less on his feet while a bunch of pricks were killed. Might have been fun to join in, but he’d never have expected for there to be something so reassuring in holding an idiot close and knowing that he wasn’t getting into any new trouble.

He took to leaning against a wall because Abram had become a boneless weight after about ten minutes, which probably wasn’t a good sign, but hey, no new trouble. Andrew took his breaks when and wherever he could get them.

He still couldn’t understand _why_ Abram was a boneless weight against him after everything he’d done and hadn’t done, why Abram had chosen him to slump against instead of Camilo or- why _him_. Why Abram’s trembles had slowed and eventually stilled after Andrew had wrapped his arms around him, other than that improbable, impossible ‘I trust you’.

There was a shrill shrieking in the background for a minute or two which he took to be Lola, but unfortunately, Jamie wanted the bitch alive. Not Andrew’s favorite take on the situation, but he wanted that new P1. Plus, he thought it was going to be interesting, when Jamie showed up. Gabe what’s-his-name also was alive, and probably not happy about his brother, judging from the resemblance, being left to bleed out on the floor. Though really, considering how Abram had just been slashing blindly in a panic, it had been a mercy killing. Not that the prick deserved any mercy.

Camilo turned out to be a tall as fuck guy in his late thirties, a bit of a stocky build with thick blond hair and blue eyes. Andrew had to glare to get him to stop approaching since the man didn’t seem to understand ‘personal’ space and would have kept closing in, which would have woken up Abram.

“Ah, hello,” Camilo said in accented English as he came to an abrupt halt; he at least pitched his voice low enough not to disturb Abram. “I’ve word that Stuart and the others are on their way.”

“Good,” Andrew grunted, but he didn’t stop glaring. “Lola and Gabe all wrapped up for them?”

“Yes, we had to gag them, they were that vocal. There’s also a couple of other people we subdued.” The Belgium man regarded Abram for a moment. “I have someone who can-”

“No,” Andrew said in a cold tone of voice. “He’ll be more comfortable with someone he trusts.”

“I suppose.” Camilo continued to regard Abram for a few more seconds, until Andrew wanted to fling a knife at the bastard. “It’s clear he trusts you.” He gave Andrew a wistful smile before he bowed his head. “I’ll go watch over Wesninski’s people until Abram’s family arrives.”

The man walked away, his people falling in step behind him, which left Andrew alone with Abram once again. He wasn’t certain that he should allow Abram to ‘sleep’ like that… but he was also loathe to wake his friend, considering all that had happened. Fuck it, Annie or someone else should arrive soon to check out Abram’s injuries, they could make the medical decisions. Andrew was just grateful that Abram was getting some relief from the recent horror.

It took another half an hour before the rest of the ‘family’ showed up; Stuart had called in a favor with Camilo since it was clear that Lola had people watching the rest of the Hatfords to ensure that Andrew didn’t play any ‘tricks’. Andrew wasn’t surprised to see Stuart rush through the door with Davis at his side, headed straight for wherever Abram was, and Jamie not too far behind him with Liz and Jason on her flanks. What did shock him was seeing Will Hatford behind his daughter, with a somber Ally falling in step not too far off and a couple of older enforcers taking up the rear.

“Bloody hell, what did you do to him? Ram?” Stuart called out Abram’s name as he approached, which woke up Abram with a jolt. Only the fact that Annie came in behind Will kept Andrew from yelling at the overbearing bastard.

“No!” Abram choked out, until he seemed to recall where he was and then he settled against Andrew again with a painful wince. “ _Ow_.”

“Idiot,” Andrew murmured as he rubbed at the back of Abram’s neck, displeased at how bruised his friend’s face was just then, at how dilated those blue eyes were and how much effort it took for Abram to settle back against him. He didn’t feel guilty for what he’d done, but he hated Lola for making him do everything.

“You fucking pri-”

“Get out of my way,” Annie said as she shoved past a furious Stuart. “What did you have to do?” she asked Andrew while she set her bag down and held out her hands as she approached Abram. “How bad was it?”

“Bad,” he admitted. “He took a lot of hits to his head and to his ribs.” At Stuart’s choked sound of rage, he glared at the bastard. “It wasn’t all me.”

“No,” Abram slurred. “Head slammed… don’ Annie…. Oooh, no light.” He flinched when Annie waved a pen light in his eyes.

“Congratulations, you’ve got another concussion. Aren’t they fun?” She dug into her bag for some wipes to clean up his face where Lola’s claws had dug in, and noticed how Abram was pulling away from her touching him. “All right, I’ve got to check a few things, let’s try to do this quickly, okay?”

Andrew massaged the back of Abram’s neck while she checked for any internal bleeding, and after a couple of stressful minutes, she proclaimed him dinged up but likely to live through the night. She also pressed some pain pills, muscle relaxants and sleeping pills into Andrew’s hands while Stuart took to fussing over his nephew, including yanking off his own dress shirt so Abram could have something better to wear other than Andrew’s jacket.

“Will they knock him out?”

“And then some,” Annie assured Andrew. “Probably won’t be able to get much into him past the first time or two, but shove some down his throat tonight at the least.”

Considering everything that had happened the last hour or two? Andrew was doing that if he had to sit on the idiot and pill him like a fucking cat, bites and scratches and all.

Abram cleared for the time being and wearing Stuart’s shirt over his ripped and filthy jeans with Andrew’s leather jacket on top, they went over to where Jamie, Camilo and Will were standing around a seething Lola and Gabe, only to find out that they were all moving to a more secure location. It made sense, but Andrew had the feeling that it was going to be a long night.

“Ram, come with me,” Stuart said while motioning toward him and Davis.

“No,” Abram mumbled while he slumped once more against Andrew.

As much as Andrew felt vindicated at the moment, he thought about his car. “Might be more comfortable.”

“ _No_ ,” Abram repeated.

“Maybe Ram should go home,” Ally offered.

“ _No_ ,” Abram spat, with enough heat to make his cousin flinch. “I didn’ get the shit beat outta me to sit this out.”

“I was just… uhm, never mind,” Ally said as he took a step back.

“Let’s go,” Abram told Andrew, even if he couldn’t walk a simple straight line at the moment. Andrew sighed as he herded his idiot toward the McLaren, and had to make sure that Abram didn’t collapse onto the ground while trying to get into it.

“Why _this_ car?” Abram grumbled as he curled up in the seat in obvious pain.

Andrew didn’t say anything, he just sent a text to Jamie before he pulled out of the parking lot, and when they reached the old building that smelled of rotted produce and stale flowers of all things, Bren was waiting with a couple of lattes for them once Andrew hauled a woozy Abram out of the McLaren.

“Just a little longer,” he told his idiot. “Unless you want to-”

“No,” Abram insisted. “We finish this,” he said, even as he leaned on Andrew in a clear sign that he was fading fast. Even as he flinched when everyone else approached, he still trusted Andrew enough for support.

So Andrew handed him the plain latte along with just one of the pain pills while they waited for everyone else to arrive. “Fuck, Abram, but you look rough. Sure you don’t want to go to the hospital or anything?” Bren asked.

“Just home,” Abram mumbled as he went to rub at his face with his bandaged left hand before he remembered why that wasn’t a good idea.

Andrew gently grabbed onto Abram’s forearms to make him stop that, and tucked his friend against his left side while they waited for the others to arrive. It didn’t take too long, and Liz came over to them with Abram’s ruined armbands while everyone else focused on hauling the ‘guests’ to the center of the room. “Here. You’ll need new bands for them,” she told Andrew as she handed them over.

“Long as he doesn’t need new knives again.” Abram perked up at hearing that, then sighed when Stuart came over as well.

“You really should be home, Ram,” Stuart fussed. “You look even worse now.”

“Thanks,” Abram slurred. “Lola?”

Guessing what his friend was asking about, Andrew pushed away from the wall. “Looks like your uncle is getting ready to question her.” At Abram’s confusion, he sighed. “Will.” Oh yes, it appeared as if the pain pill was kicking in.

“Really?” Abram blinked as he was dragged along without any protest.

“Will’s finally getting some long-owed payback,” Stuart said, a vicious edge to his rough voice as he hovered near Abram’s left side.

The three of them joined the gathered people to find Lola strapped to a chair, her fur coat gone and red dress torn, one heel missing and face bruised from where Andrew had knocked her out. Her dark eyes glittered with hatred when she caught sight of him. “Oh Doe, doubling down on a losing hand? Once a bitch, always a bitch.”

He motioned for Bren to step back when the enforcer went to punch Lola for those words. “I killed the last man who thought that about me,” he said while he hugged Abram closer to his side. “After he spent hours begging me to stop.”

Lola spat out a mouthful of blood, but it fell short of its target. “Nathan’s gonna carve you to pieces and make Junior watch.” Abram stirred at the words, his fingers tightening around Andrew’s left hip.

“He’s an old, sick fuck trying to fix a mistake that’s dragging him down like a weighted noose,” Andrew said as he gave Lola a slight smile. “That’s why he sent you, right? His days are numbered.”

The bitch bared her bloodied teeth and switched her target to Abram. “You’re just gonna hurt all the more now, Junior. So much for-”

“Break her,” Abram said, his voice loud and frigid with indifference despite all of the pain he was in, the pain and exhaustion. “I’m tired of hearing the same old threats,” he told Jamie, even if twisting about to look at his cousin almost made him topple to the floor.

“You little-” That time, Bren did smack Lola silent.

“With pleasure, little cousin.” Jamie nodded to Abram for a moment before she looked at her father. “Sir.”

Will Hatford strode forward with the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up and a seemingly mild expression on his lined face. Andrew had only seen the man at his birthday dinner, but there was something different about him tonight, something darker and more focused. Gone was the ‘kindly uncle’ persona, the ‘benevolent boss’. Of course Lola sneered at him.

“Oh, look, it’s the old fuck. Haven’t you died from a stroke yet or something?”

Will didn’t say anything to her, instead he paused in front of Abram to give his nephew a considering look before turning it to Andrew for a couple of seconds. Then he reached out, his motions slow, to cup the back of Abram’s head. “You did good,” he told a wide-eyed Abram. Then he nodded to Andrew. “Thank you. Take care of him,” he said before he turned back toward Lola.

Lola continued to sneer. “You can’t do anything, you old fuck, you-” Bren slapped her again.

“That’s enough,” Will said as he came to a stop in front of her and held out his right hand; one of the older enforcers put a long, slim knife in it. “Lola Malcolm, one of Nathan Wesninski’s trusted officers and of course one of his favorite whores.” He spoke in a cultured, bored voice while he looked at the woman as if she was a speck of dirt.

“Can’t get over the fact that he preferred fucking me rather than that cold piece of flesh you called your sister, no?” Lola taunted.

“Oh, I much preferred that he fucked you than Mary, to be honest. I hated the thought of that monster ever touching my sister,” Will admitted. “Only one good thing ever came out of their marriage, and I refuse to let him get his hands on Abram ever again.” Andrew felt Abram stir at that confession.

Lola’s grin just then wasn’t as confident as it had been before. “So it’s good that you’re used to disappointment, no?” Then she rallied a bit. “How much did it hurt when they told you about Henry, eh?” Both Stuart and Jamie started at that question, along with several of the Hatford’s people, yet Will remained almost impassive. “I still remember what he looked like when Pat shoved the knife in deep, the sound he made.”

“You fucking _bitch_ ,” Jamie said, her voice hoarse with pain, yet her father merely stared down at Lola with the knife held balanced in his right palm.

“No, you don’t get to do that,” Will said, his voice still just as cultured, just as controlled. “I’ve thought about this for so very long, and you don’t get to rush me.” He took a step forward and dragged the tip of the knife down the outer part of Lola’s face while she shrieked in a mixture of rage and pain. “Do you know the difference between being in control and wrecking merry havoc?” he asked once he was done leaving a thin red line along the left side of her face. “No?” he said while she cursed him out. “Well, I’ll show you now, piece by piece by _piece_.”

“ _This_ , this right here, is why you don’t fuck with the Hatfords,” Stuart said, his voice hoarse but pride evident on his face.

What _that_ was, what Will was doing to Lola, was a master class on how to take apart a person, Andrew soon learned. It certainly wasn’t the brutality that Abram had suffered through the last two times while watching the files on Lloyd’s hard drive, because Will knew what he was doing. No matter how much Lola cursed and insulted and threw the past into the man’s face – Andrew was grateful that Abram had taken the meds and seemed half out of it by then, considering the shit she was saying about Mary and the man’s childhood – Will kept at it, slicing and carving and digging in with the knife until Lola’s defiance broke. Until she finally started to tell him what he wanted to know. What they all wanted to know.

They still had the other guy tied up on the other side of the room, out of the way but close enough to see what was happening with Lola, but it was important to break _Lola_. To break the woman who had hurt Abram and Mary for so long, who had been there when Henry had been killed. Even Andrew understood that much.

Ichiro respected everything that Nathan had done for the Moriyamas, but he wasn’t going to keep him around if he couldn’t rein in Abram. Nathan had to ‘get’ Abram back, or he was done and someone younger, someone who hadn’t ‘fucked up’ so much, would take over his territory. Ichiro respected history, but he also believed that sometimes, you needed to shake things up to get the best results. He had several lieutenants who were more than willing to take over Nathan’s spot, to take over his territory in a manner that wouldn’t draw as much attention as the ‘Butcher of Baltimore’ had in recent years.

Which was why Nathan Wesninski had agreed to work with Riko Moriyama a couple of times in the younger man’s attempts to drag Abram back to the States, because Nathan believed anything that empowered Riko would weaken Ichiro. And Nathan was all about weakening the man who wanted him gone.

There was some more tidbits – the threat of investigation at Edgar Allen now that Tetsuji’s health was falling and it was clear that a new coach would be brought in, in part due to a Raven’s suicide in the past season. Ichiro’s growing frustration over the increasing competition in the States and his inability to expand into Europe and parts of Asia, thanks to the Hatfords and Xue. Andrew lost track after a while when Abram grew more of a dead weight against him, certain that Jamie or Stuart would catch him up on everything.

Stuart noticed his lack of attention – that or the way that Abram was sliding a bit further down Andrew’s left side. “Get him the hell home,” the man said in a quiet voice while Lola screamed in the background. “I’ll be by tomorrow.”

At that point, Abram was too out of it to argue, so Andrew had Bren help him get the idiot back out to the McLaren. Bren even followed them home to double-check the townhouse, just in case Lola or Wesninski had planned any surprises, and the two of them managed to get a semi-coherent Abram up to his bed, which was Bren’s cue to leave.

It didn’t take much effort to get the jeans off, considering – Andrew pushed down the rage that flared up again at the thought of that bastard’s hands on Abram, on the attempted rape. Abram began to fight him a little as he tugged the thick material down his friend’s long legs, at least until he opened his eyes and seemed to realize it was Andrew doing the undressing, and then he sighed and even helped out a little.

“You want something to wear?” Andrew asked as he helped Abram to remove Stuart’s dress shirt; from the little he’d seen in the past, from sharing hotel rooms together, Abram usually wore something. From Andrew’s own experiences, he knew that the feel of his armbands helped to center him in the now, and wondered if Abram had something similar when he went to bed.

Abram seemed to debate the question for a moment while Andrew took in the bruises he’d left on his friend, then winced. “Shu-shirt and pants.” He motioned toward the one dresser across the room with his uninjured right hand; Andrew had been careful with his friend’s left hand to not step on it too hard, but then the idiot had sliced it up with the knife. At least Annie said the cuts weren’t too deep, nothing that a bit of surgical glue couldn’t hold together.

Andrew fetched the largest sweatshirt he could find (which wasn’t difficult to do) and a pair of loose cotton pants, and eased Abram into them, mindful of the bruised ribs and various other aches and pains. Once that was done, he went into the bathroom to fetch some water for Abram, and made Abram take all three pills. There was some hesitation, but it was clear that Abram hurt from everything, especially just having to pull on some clothes, and Andrew reminded him that he was there to watch over the idiot.

That damn trust was like a punch to the chest, the way it took Andrew’s breath away. Except instead of pain, it left that damn warm feeling again. Andrew rubbed at the center of his chest while he went downstairs to grab something to eat, unable to believe that it wasn’t even that much past ten o’clock at night. He went to check the messages on his phone, then remembered that he’d destroyed it back at the first building.

He made himself an improvised dinner of a frozen pizza (not the same as the ones Abram made him) and ice cream, and logged on to his computer instead. While he finished the ice cream, he scrolled through Nicky’s media accounts to make sure the pest was all right, and other than deserving to be beaten for over-use of emoticons, his cousin appeared to be fine. The same with Renee, even if people were feeding into her delusions that she knew what the hell to do with a hammer (other than to break people’s joints and bones – Andrew was certain she’d be a natural at _that_ ). And what was _this_? The great Kevin Day had failed to start a game for the first time in his career? Well, the first time since Riko had broken his hand….

Andrew wondered if the Foxes were betting on what rehab facility he’d end up in, and for how long. Too soon? Fuck ‘em, he thought as he scraped at the last of the ice cream. That team of rejects never had managed to quite pull together, no matter how much Wymack had tried to tell them how great they would be if they could just give a fuck, no matter how hard Wilds had tried to make it happen or Day had told them (well, a couple of them) they had it in them to go all the way if they just applied themselves. Not even Martinez or Chou, the subsequent captains, could convince the fuck-ups to do better than make it to the semi-final rounds of the championships, to just barely hold on to their Class I division title. Yet Andrew was certain that they still bet on anything and everything, that they still tore into each other with more savagery than they ever showed to an opponent out on the court, and that they were taking great glee in what was happening to Kevin Day, a former Fox.

And the coward wondered why Andrew could never give a shit about the sport, when his prime examples were the Foxes and Riko Moriyama – that and Kevin Day himself. A man who could have been the best, but who willingly allowed himself to stay in a psychopath’s shadow.

The last thing Andrew did before he logged off was check his various email accounts, and paused when he noticed an email from an ‘amminyard5@crmcable.com’ on one of his older accounts. He hovered over it for a moment before he deleted it, then sent an email to Jason from another account, notifying the man about which account he’d found the email in.

Nicky didn’t even know about that email account, which Andrew really only used for some bills and shit while back in Columbia, to keep track of some things. So how would Aaron find out about it? And to have his _Exy_ number in his email address? When Aaron had only gone along with playing for the Foxes so he could get that university degree? So he could become a doctor? No way in hell. Someone was phishing, was trying to see if Andrew would bite in relation to his brother. Perhaps Lola or Wesninski, since Lola had asked about Aaron during one of the calls, or maybe one of the Moriyamas.

Andrew powered off the laptop and slammed it shut, then went to throw away the empty container of ice cream before going to his bedroom to change into something he could sleep in for the night. After getting ready for bed, however, he went back downstairs and stretched out on the couch, feeling better about being closer to the front door than in his room two floors up. Damn couch was a lot more comfortable than most of his beds growing up, after all.

He fell asleep, though his dreams were filled with images of shadowy men holding Abram down and stripping him, of strangers stalking Aaron. Andrew woke up several times with his hands wrapped around his armbands, and had to remind himself that the people he’d promised to protect were safe. That those things weren’t going to happen. After a few hours, he got up and went to Abram’s bedroom, and after looking down on an unconscious Abram still curled up in the same position as Abram had left him in earlier that night, grabbed a blanket from the foot of the bed and slept in the chair on the other side of the room.

When morning came, he left the room as quietly as possible so as not to disturb Abram, and after stopping by his own bedroom to use the bathroom and change, went to the kitchen to put on the coffee then got in a little workout. He’d just showered and was having some coffee when Bren stopped by with a huge box of donuts, some breakfast pasties, new armbands for Abram and an offer to be back later to spot Andrew for some lifting. “He doing all right?”

“Still knocked out from the meds,” Andrew said while he helped himself to the donuts.

Bren winced. “Good luck with that.” Then for some reason he fled.

Andrew didn’t have to wait long to find out what that cryptic comment meant, because after about half an hour, a scowling Abram stumbled out of the elevator and more or less managed to get to the kitchen on his own; his face was a spectacular patchwork of bruises, his right eye nearly swollen shut and lower lip puffed up, his hair a tangled mess, and he sat hunched forward as if in pain. Well, definitely in pain.

“Fuckin’ prat,” he slurred, hunched so far over the island with his arms wrapped around him that the ends of his hair touched the marble surface.

Andrew regarded him in silence until the donut he was eating was gone. “So you don’t want coffee and more pain pills, is it?”

Abram made a faint whining sound and rested his head on the marble surface, his arms wrapped around his middle as if to hold his organs in. He was still dressed in the clothes that Andrew had put on him the night before, the neck of the sweatshirt sliding off of one of his sharp shoulders. Instead of the usual spark of desire Andrew felt at seeing the too-large clothes, he was given the over-all impression of a ragamuffin just then.

Apparently, Abram disliked being drugged, but Andrew refused to put up with a grumpy idiot in pain so he won that round after about five minutes of glaring (once Abram could lift his head again) and incoherent muttering. Once the meds were down (Andrew was only a little disappointed he didn’t have to pill the bastard), Andrew heated up one of the pasties then set it down in front of Abram along with a mug of coffee. “You able to eat that?”

“I… think so.” Abram picked it up with exaggerated care, which made Andrew believe that the pills Annie had dished out were potent as fuck, and took a small bite. “Yeah.”

“Then eat it.” Andrew went to heat a couple for himself, and was actually enjoying a dough-filled packet of eggs, sausage, cheese and potatoes when of course Stuart showed up.

Abram had almost finished his own breakfast when his uncle came over to him, and set down the last of the pasty so he could frown at the bastard. “Uhm?”

Yes, definitely some potent drugs – Andrew would have to keep a few on hand, if Abram didn’t want to finish them.

“For fuck’s sake, you look-” Stuart had the grace to not finish that thought as his rough hands fluttered around Abram’s head. “Tell me you got some sleep, yeah?”

“He was doped out of his head last night. Is doped out of it right now, in fact,” Andrew offered, which made Davis give him a wry smile.

Stuart managed to back off of his precious nephew long enough to scowl. “Did you have to beat him up so damn much, you little-” He stopped when Abram snagged the left sleeve of his grey suit.

“Don’t,” Abram said, the words a little slurred because of his lip and the drugs, but clear enough. “He did what he had to do.”

Andrew refused to feel guilty over the previous night, but some of the tension in his shoulders loosened over how Abram insisted on standing up for him, the idiot martyr. “I did what I thought would keep us both alive,” he argued. “A shame that Lola turned out to be a sadistic bitch.” That she had been willing to test him _that_ far, in seeing if he’d degrade himself to the lowest point possible to either keep Abram as his ‘own’ or just didn’t care about another person that much.

Andrew had thought he’d been with the worst of humanity in some of his foster homes, had been with _Drake_ , but he had to wonder just what Abram had been subjected to in that house in Baltimore. There were all different shades of evil, and he had a feeling that between the two of them, they had experienced a majority of it.

Davis scoffed a little there. “Think that’s a bit of an understatement. She was a-”

Abram pushed his plate away hard enough for the ceramic to skitter across the marble. “Enough, okay? Just… enough.” He shuddered a little as he tucked back the hair falling onto his bruised face, and he literally jumped off of the stool when Stuart went to touch him on the shoulder. Granted, Stuart could be an annoying fuck, but Abram normally trusted his uncle so that reaction hadn’t gone over well.

Coming back to his admittedly dazed senses, Abram summoned a guilty smile for the hurt man, while Andrew sighed and went over to deal with his idiot. “ _Go lie down on the couch_ ,” he said in Mandarin, hoping the switch in language would distract Abram and force him to concentrate, to get his mind off of, well, everything that had happened the day before and all. Abram blinked a couple of times before giving him a slow nod.

“ _Don’t… don’t wanna sleep right now_.”

Andrew wasn’t sure his idiot had much of a choice considering the meds, even if he hadn’t taken another sleeping pill. “I’ll make you some tea,” he said in English.

“Okay.” Abram wasn’t as hunched over as before as he walked into the living room, and before Stuart could follow him like a worried nursemaid or something, Andrew held up a hand to stop him.

“What?”

Andrew picked up the new armbands and shoved them at the bastard’s chest. “His knives are up in his room,” he said, voice pitched low since Abram wasn’t too far away. “Go get them, and then offer to help him with them.” That should make Abram feel better than any pain meds, having his knives back on him, and make Stuart happy, having something to do with his ‘darling Ram’.

Stuart glowered at Andrew for all of three seconds before he sniffed. “I’m still not happy with how banged up he got.” Before Andrew could stab him for the attitude, he slipped the new armbands into the left pocket of his suit coat and stepped away. “Make him the Earl Grey, he likes that when he’s upset.”

As if Andrew didn’t know that already, after living with Abram these last few months. However, he just flipped Stuart off and went over to the cupboard to fetch the tea leaves while Davis gave him an assessing look for about a minute. “We heard about everything from Camilo,” the enforcer said as he went over to the fridge to help himself to some water. “About the set-up and how she had one of those bastards attempt to-” He slammed the fridge shut with a bit of unnecessary force. “How that was when Camilo and his men decided to move in.”

That had been cutting it a bit close, in Andrew’s opinion, though it had lined up Abram to take out that Elias bastard and put him in a good position for Lola. It had also meant an awful long time for Abram to be beat up and an additional shitload of issues for the man, but who was counting?

As it was, Andrew still had to ‘talk’ to Stuart about Camilo.

Davis continued to regard him in that annoying manner while Andrew filled the electric kettle. “Anyway, Stuart’s understandably pissy, considering… I think you can figure it out.”

“I’m not the one who decided that it would be a great idea to ‘break’ his nephew,” Andrew reminded the man. “That was Lola, and I seem to recall Will making her pay for it.” Last he’d seen, the elder Hatford had been doing a good job of flaying off the woman’s face.

“She worked for the fucking Butcher, what do you expect?” Davis spat, his normally congenial face twisted with hatred. “You think we didn’t try to send people over there to help out Mary and Abram, all those years ago?” He huffed as he chucked the bottle of water into the trash and went to fetch the whiskey. “You don’t want to know what happened to them.”

No, Andrew probably didn’t. He also probably didn’t want to know how deep Abram’s martyr complex ran, just how long his idiot had hated having people die for him.

Andrew waited until the water had boiled, and noticed that Stuart was back downstairs by then, was in the living room and talking quietly to Abram. “So what, Camilo had a problem with what I did, too?”

“No,” Davis said as he refilled his glass with more whiskey. “He said that he and his people only moved in when it was clear that you could no longer handle the situation without getting yourself killed. Said you did a good job, and that Abram obviously trusts you.” At Andrew’s blank look, Davis smiled. “Stuart’s just being pissy because he couldn’t be there for Abram.” His smile slipped away. “He doesn’t like that things could have gone completely pear shaped and Abram would have suffered for it.”

Andrew wasn’t happy about it either, but all he said while he poured the hot water into the teapot was, “and it’s my fault?”

Davis had the grace to wince. “It’s easy for him to snap at you.”

Andrew gave him a flat look for that bit of stupidity.

“Yeah, you’re special to him.” When Andrew’s eyes narrowed in displeasure, Davis was quick to toss back some more whiskey. “Anyway,” he repeated as he took a hasty step away, “it was a busy night! We found out some weaknesses for that prick, Ichiro, and might be able to set some of those young bastards on Wesninski. Good news for us, yeah?”

“Anything that’ll get them to back off of Abram, yes,” Andrew agreed while he reached for another donut. “Will you be able to use some of those new ‘friends’ you made in the U.S?” The people who were helping to protect Aaron.

“Hmm, that’s for Will and Jamie to decide, ultimately, but I’m thinking ‘yes’,” Davis admitted as he put the glass tumbler in the sink and went to fetch another bottle of water. “Always nice when those things work out.”

Somehow Andrew doubted it would be that easy, that the ‘Butcher’ and Ichiro would go down without a fight. Last night hadn’t been a killing blow, but it had been a painful hit, had been damaging. The important thing would be to keep up the momentum without allowing the Moriyamas or Wesninski to throw them off track.

Judging that the tea had steeped enough, Andrew picked up the pot and a clean mug before going into the living room, where Stuart was sitting on the edge of the coffee table so he could talk to Abram, who was propped up on some pillows at the one end of the couch. The idiot appeared a bit more aware than he had in the kitchen, probably because he had his knives back on, the sleeves of his light grey sweatshirt pushed up past his elbow.

“I was telling Abram that Jason or Liz will be by later with new phones for the two of you,” Stuart said, appearing to be past his hissy fit now that Abram was comfortable in his presence once more.

“I’d just gotten used to the new one,” Abram sighed. “At least it wasn’t the laptop, though.” He smiled at Andrew and accepted the tea after tugging the cuffs of the sweatshirt over his hands so much that only his fingertips showed past the material. “Thanks.”

“Fire?”

“Yes.”

“You know to be careful, right? That prick isn’t going to be pleased that you got away again, and cost him his whore in the bargain.” Stuart’s voice hardened at the mention of Lola. “Don’t leave the house for the next few days unless necessary, I don’t care if the midget goth wants to go out to eat.”

Abram sighed while Andrew fought the urge to bash the mothering bastard over the head with the poker from the fireplace. “I highly doubt I’m going to be up for going anywhere,” Abram pointed out.

“I’ve heard that before,” Stuart muttered.

“Don’t you have something to do?” Andrew asked. “Knees to break, people to kill, shops to shake down, shit like that?” Anything that got him out of Andrew’s home and away from Abram, before Andrew started stabbing things. Things like overbearing uncles.

Stuart twisted about to glare at him, but before Andrew had to put the poker to good use, Davis stepped in. “He’s right, there’s that matter in Whitechapel we need to resolve, right boss?”

“Yeah,” Stuart said as he stood up. “You’ve got your knives now,” he told Abram as he leaned in nice and slow to tousle his nephew’s hair. “Stab the little prick if he bothers you.”

Abram attempted a deeper sigh then, but ended up wincing in pain. “Maybe the pain meds are a good thing,” he said in a very tired voice.

Waving to the two men with the poker in a not so subtle manner as they left, Andrew finished with the fire then went to double-check the locks after a minute. When he came back, it was to find Abram swathed in blankets and drinking the tea with a contemplative look on his face. Well, what Andrew assumed was a contemplative look, considering all of the bruises.

“Backyard should be fine for burying bodies in another couple of weeks, once we get a good thaw,” Andrew remarked as he sat on the other end of the couch.

That made Abram smile over the rim of his mug. “Too many family events, someone would notice he’d gone missing soon enough.” Then he lowered the mug and winced again as he leaned back into the corner of the couch a little more. “He means well.”

From what Andrew could tell, Abram truly meant that. From what he could tell, Stuart _did_ mean well, too; he didn’t know if Stuart was just too fucked up from the family business to get it entirely right or if it was a few other things coming into play – Abram’s past and Stuart overcompensating because of Mary.

Why did it so often seem to come back to Mary Hatford?

Still, Andrew’s life had been filled with people who had ‘meant well’, and left damage in their wake instead. Judging from how Abram had grown quiet and the sad twist to his swollen lips, so had his, which meant that there wasn’t much more to be said on that topic.

Andrew picked up the remote so he could turn on the television. “Any bets on if Kevin’s entered rehab yet?”

“Eh?” Abram seemed to need a moment to think about the question, which made Andrew wonder once again about the pain meds. “Ooooh.” He finished his tea and just barely managed to set the mug on the coffee table, then began the slow process of scooting down the couch until he was more stretched out than sitting; even then, there was enough room that Andrew could still sit on the end without Abram’s feet touching his thigh. “So quickly?”

“The faster he goes in, the faster the whole thing blows over.” The faster people could move on to another story. That was part of Renee’s rationale behind it, that the Moriyamas would want to get Kevin and the other Ravens into rehab quickly, for the whole ‘out of sight, out of mind’ aspect of things. The sooner Kevin dried out and was back on court, the faster he could ‘redeem’ himself. Of course Andrew kept to himself that the Moriyamas probably wouldn’t be above creating a new scandal or two during that time, unwilling to put up with second-guessing and guilt from his ‘born again’ friend.

“I see.” Abram toyed with the gauze wrapped around his left hand for a moment. He stared at the television, at some stupid golf tournament recap while Andrew waited for them to do a general sports news review. “You know him, do you think it’ll take?”

Andrew considered the question while some annoyingly handsome man with a fake tan droned on about birdies and handicaps and other boring golf things on the screen. “I think he’ll do whatever it takes to get back on the court, but I’ll be surprised if he dries up on the first attempt.” Kevin needed his ‘crutch’ too much, and Riko needed Kevin weak. So they would make it appear as if Kevin got ‘better’, and as long as the striker had things under control for a while? Everything would be fine. Probably the same for all the other Ravens who went into rehab, too.

Not for the first time, Andrew wondered about Jean Moreau; Kevin hadn’t talked much about the Frenchman, except to worry about him from time to time. Worry about how Moreau was dealing with Riko while Kevin hid at Palmetto State. If Moreau wasn’t an alcoholic, he had to have something else to help him get through whatever Riko had done to him, or be one seriously fucked up person.

And that was coming from someone who did a fair bit of drinking himself, to get him through the dark days.

“Is that it?”

Andrew stopped wondering about broken Ravens and turned up the volume when he saw Kevin’s face appear on the screen, and put up with the ‘news’ caster blatantly emoting a sad expression while he discussed the fact that Kevin Day had just entered a rehab facility in upper New York for a thirty day period. There were rumors that Justin Williams and Sarah-

Having heard enough, Andrew turned off the television. “Thirty days, that’s nothing.” Kevin would be out and draining fifths of whiskey in no time at all.

“It’s a start at least,” Abram said, sounding a bit sleepy.

“I suppose.” Andrew would have to talk to Jamie and see what her ‘friends’ could arrange, see if it would be possible to start working on Kevin. Thirty days wasn’t enough time for everything, but it would be enough for a start.

Judging Abram just a few minutes from falling asleep again due to the meds but doing his best to fight it, Andrew went into the kitchen to fetch the box of donuts and a mug of coffee for himself. Then he sat back down on the couch with the blanket tugged over his lap, and didn’t say anything when he felt Abram’s feet press every so lightly against his left thigh. He knew the touch was deliberate, and was willing to bet that it was Abram’s way of making sure that Andrew was there, in knowing that he wasn’t alone as the pills dragged him under. Andrew remained on the couch for the next few hours while Abram got some more rest to heal and ate his donuts while watching movies with the worst historical inaccuracies he could find in an impromptu homage to Day.

Dammit, he shouldn’t be so content about such a stupid thing. Something was seriously wrong with his head – this was what happened when one lived in such close contact with an idiot, he supposed. Stupidity was obviously contagious. It still didn’t explain the damn heartburn which only grew worse and worse.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> And that was that. Hmm. 
> 
> Next chapter... who haven't we seen in a while?
> 
> Currently trying to work on getting ahead a little on Armies so I can get back to posting something on Sundays. Hoping to back to that in another week or two *fingers crossed*.


	15. The No Seatbelt Song

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, this one isn't as bad as the last chapter, I promise. There might still be a little triggering moments here and there, but more in referencing past moments and very brief. 
> 
> That said, it's another 'development' chapter for a large part. Mostly. Enjoy!
> 
> And again, much thanks to Huntwodh for the beta!
> 
> *******

*******

It was quiet after the whole ‘Lola’ affair, in part since Andrew and Abram were stuck in the townhouse once again, because of Abram recovering from the beating he’d taken. There’d been a couple of fights over the meds, where Andrew had come very close to shoving his idiot onto the stool, prying open his jaw and shoving the damn pills down Abram’s throat – very, _very_ close. Close enough to actually cage a glaring Abram against the counter at one point and offer to do just that, because as surly as the idiot got about the damn things, he was even worse in pain and refusing to take it easy, the stubborn fool.

Andrew understood hating to be medicated, hating to feel weak and out of it, but he was there to watch over Abram, to keep him safe. He knew that Abram trusted him, so the idiot needed to give his body a chance to rest up and heal for a couple of days so he’d recover that much faster. Abram only needed the things for a short while, and would be better because of them (no sarcasm intended for once).

“You hate the things, too,” Abram complained as he sulked on the couch, attempting to scowl at Andrew except that he was off by at least a foot – he was looking more toward the kitchen than at the chair where Andrew was sitting.

“Yes, but I’m not stupid enough to ignore the fact that I got the shit beat out of me,” Andrew shot back as he ‘flipped’ to a new page in his book. “Shut up and go back to drooling.”

That earned him a rude gesture before Abram slumped down against his pillows, and things grew quiet for a while. Andrew looked up after a few pages and found Abram asleep once more, and wondered if he could bribe Annie for more pills. They certainly could come in handy for quiet moments.

Abram woke up for dinner, which Bren dropped off since Andrew wasn’t allowing the idiot anywhere near the stove while he was on drugs. “Someone feeling better yet?” the enforcer asked while he dropped off the Chinese food.

“He wanted to go for a run today, despite the fact that he can’t even bend over to put on his shoes.” Couldn’t even find the things while on the meds, which was rather amusing, until he got the bright idea to call Stuart about the damn things and then Stuart called Andrew to yell at him about why he was hiding ‘Ram’s’ shoes from the poor darling. Now Abram’s phone had been confiscated.

“I’m right here,” Abram complained while he fumbled open his container of food. “Uhm, this isn’t… isn’t curry?”

Bren reached for Abram then seemed to reconsider the action, considering that Abram was holding a fork in his right fist as if to stab something. “Ah, I was told to pick up Chinese tonight.”

“You told me you wanted dan dan noodles,” Andrew said to his idiot while he put on the water for tea – just tea, since there was no way he was adding alcohol to the mix.

Abram continued to frown for a few seconds before he shrugged and flipped his fork around in his hand so he could twirl the noodles with it then had a bite. “Okay,” he said after he’d swallowed the noodles.

Bren wiped his hand over his face then shot Andrew a pitying look. “How much longer?”

“Two more days.” By then Abram’s ribs should be healed up enough to not give him so much trouble and he wouldn’t look so awful anymore; Andrew knew once Abram was off the meds, he’d be arguing to get back to work and would push himself too far to properly heal.

“Well, good luck with that.” Bren winced while he zipped up his coat, apparently planning to flee. “I’ll see you in the morning.”

Andrew fetched the pills while he brewed the tea, and then set them and the mug down next to Abram. His idiot scowled at the three small items as if they were utterly vile things, but an even look from Andrew and a gentle touch to the fading bruise around his right eye made Abram sigh in an exaggerated manner and pick them up. “You’re an utter prat, _hon_ ,” Abram griped before he swallowed the pills down with some tea.

“Look who’s talking, _babe,_ ” Andrew drawled before he went over to eat his own dinner.

It didn’t take long for the meds to kick in, and he had to practically carry Abram up to bed yet again that night.

One of the good things about the sleeping pills were that they seemed to knock Abram out enough that he barely dreamed, so it helped to stave off any nightmares from what had happened in the one abandoned building, what Lola had her underling do to Abram. Andrew could already see the effects in how his friend shied from Bren and others who stopped by the townhouse, how Abram hated to be alone. He just didn’t know how it would affect them, whatever it was between them.

The next two days passed quickly, with Andrew alternating between amused, befuddled and annoyed at Abram’s behavior. He supposed that he should feel some sort of – no, it was just plain annoying, how damn grumpy Abram got over things, at wanting to be such a damn idiot and go running or work or cook Andrew breakfast when he needed to sit his ass down, and then didn’t seem to care that he was working on Andrew’s last nerve. That he’d pushed Andrew to the point of wanting to throttle him, and all he’d do was glare back at Andrew or slump against him or worst yet, _smile_ like a happy idiot for some unknown reason.

There were times when Andrew was very tempted to take the damn meds himself.

Still, a few days after that terrible evening, Andrew came down into the kitchen to find Abram making omelets, dressed in an overlarge sweatshirt and cotton pants, his hair pulled away from his face. “Just try to dose me up and I’m stabbing you,” Abram warned, voice still a little off and attention a little too focused on the stove as if he was afraid of looking away from the cooking food. There was more of a mess than usual on the counters, but Andrew figured that as long as he wasn’t burning the place down, he’d let that slide.

“How are the ribs?” he asked, figuring there was no sense in asking about the idiot’s head.

“Good enough for me to stab you, _hon_.”

“It was for your own benefit, _babe._ ” And a bit for Andrew’s. “If you’re going to be that pissy about it, don’t get the shit beat out of you again.”

“I’ll be sure to – fuck!” Abram hurried to remove the pan from the heat and then slumped forward a little. “Don’t distract me.”

“That one’s yours,” Andrew was kind enough to point out as he went to get himself some coffee.

“Maybe I should take the damn things,” Abram mumbled as he plated the rather brown omelet. At least the next couple turned out better, and the two of them sat down to eat together. “Any word from Jamie?”

Andrew shook his head. “Just been talking to Stuart and Bren. Get the impression everyone’s busy making sure that Nathan and Ichiro don’t strike back.” Which was why the ‘family’ wanted the two of them to remain at home for as much as possible.

“Oh.” Abram poked at his singed omelet before getting up to make some toast instead. “How is Nicky?”

“Same as always.” Andrew had answered the question just the other day, but guessed it had been lost in the drug fugue. “Busy drooling over the bodyguards.”

That got a smile out of Abram. “The poor man. I’m surprised Erik puts up with it, but he seems rather tolerant.”

The man had known what he was getting into when he married Nicky, Andrew supposed. He finished his breakfast then drank his coffee while he studied Abram, took in the fading bruises on his friend’s face, the healing nicks around Abram’s jaw and cheeks from Lola’s nails, the cuts on Abram’s left hand and the way he still favored his left side a little. The physical injuries were still there but slowly going away, now what about the mental?

When Andrew got up to put his dishes in the sink, he brushed close to Abram and didn’t notice any flinching, no recoil. Instead, he got a faint smile despite the threat from earlier, and Abram was slow to reach out to hover his hand over the center of Andrew’s chest.

“Yes or no?” Abram asked, which surprised Andrew.

“Yes,” he said, and stood still as Abram leaned in for a brief, chaste kiss as if feeling things out. Then he smiled at Andrew again, the expression taking on a bit of an edge.

“Now give me back my phone or I really will stab you, to hell with the grout.”

Andrew would say that someone was definitely feeling better. “It’s behind the cookies.” He figured Abram would never think to look for it in that cabinet.

“Bloody American,” Abram muttered, right before he leaned in for another kiss, one that lingered a few more seconds, one where he moaned against Andrew’s lips when Andrew’s hand cupped the back of his neck. Yet Andrew didn’t hold him there, didn’t touch him anywhere else or attempt to slip past those parted lips, and thought he caught a hint of relief in those blue eyes when Abram pulled away. “Surprised you didn’t put it in with the ice cream.”

“You went in there once to look for an icepack.” Then had a brilliant idea to use a pint of ice cream instead, which had led to another dose of pills – Andrew didn’t allow anyone to mess with his ice cream.

Jamie better come through with the new P1.

He had to go fetch the phone for his idiot, since it was tucked too far back and despite having the advantage of reach, Abram’s ribs weren’t up to him stretching that far yet. Once it was in Abram’s hands, he appeared pleased and went off checking his emails and texts, probably planning to catch up on work for the day. As long as it didn’t involve the damn treadmill, Andrew figured he’d let the idiot go at it and went into the living room.

After a couple of hours, Abram came in there as well with a mug of tea in his hands and a puzzled expression on his face. “I remember something now – how long have you known Russian? And Ukrainian, too?”

Andrew noticed that he didn’t ask about the Romanian, which was probably for the best. “I don’t, not really,” Andrew said as he set his e-reader aside. “Just a little.” When all Abram did was gaze at him while sipping his tea, he sighed. “Liliya’s been teaching me a few things.”

“Such as?”

“Some basic stuff.”

Abram continued to gaze at him as if thinking about something. “You understood what I told you when that-” He closed his eyes and took a deep breath. “You knew the Russian words I spoke to you?”

“For the most part, yes,” Andrew admitted.

“Then not quite the basic stuff,” Abram said. “You’re learning swear words.” His eyes narrowed, and Andrew waited for the bitching to start. “Your accent is atrocious.”

_That_ was what the idiot focused on? “I wasn’t aware I was being quizzed on it at the time.”

That earned him a displeased frown. “If you’re going to speak a language, do it right or else you’re going to offend the wrong person. I’ll send you some files so you can start learning Russian since you’ve got a good grasp of Mandarin now.” Then Abram went back to the kitchen.

Well, that had gone better than Andrew had expected – a limited amount of bitching and none about him holding back on knowing what Abram had been saying the last couple of weeks. He resumed his reading, figuring that he better finish the book so he could then get started on his new language lessons.

Bren entered the place as if expecting to have a knife thrown at him when it came time for him to drop off their dinner, and smiled when he found Abram busy with work at the island. “Things back to normal?”

Abram spoke up before Andrew could answer. “You’re a traitorous bastard, I’ll have you know.” He glanced up from the laptop’s screen to scowl at the enforcer. “No help at all? Really?”

Bren merely shrugged while he set the food down on the other end of the island. “Well, you were already all doped up, which meant I had to take on Andrew by myself. I didn’t like those odds.”

“Pathetic,” Abram sneered. “You outweigh him.”

“I’m not about to mess with either of you – you short little bastards are vicious and don’t fight fair, I’ve seen you in action. Bloody hell, I’ve cleaned up after you enough times.” Bren shook his head then held up his hands. “Not going there. But, I did bring you the Thai you wanted.”

Abram appeared mollified by that, and Andrew came over to make sure that Bren hadn’t messed up their order. “You get my fried banana rolls?”

“What did I say about you being vicious little bastards, eh? Of course you have your damn rolls.” Bren heaved a deep sigh as he stepped away from the island. “I think I’m looking forward to smacking around some dumb young fucks at Covent Garden.”

“Have fun,” Andrew told him while he picked up a fried banana roll. “Smack a few for me.”

“Find your own dumb fucks to smack,” Bren told him with a grin, then seemed to frown at Abram while the younger Brit was bent over his dinner. “Huh, you going for a new look or what?”

Abram glanced up, a lock of hair having slipped out of the silver clip which held most of it pulled back. “Excuse me?”

Andrew realized that Bren was talking about Abram no longer dyeing his roots and gave the enforcer a cold look to get him to drop the subject. “Ah, never mind. Off to do that smacking, you two have fun!”

Andrew didn’t answer, he just finished off his roll while Abram stared after Bren for a few seconds and then touched his hair. “It’s noticeable, isn’t it?” he asked when he looked back down at his noodles, his left hand rising to tug at the stray strand of hair.

“Might help if you hadn’t gone for black in the first place,” Andrew admitted while he reached for another roll. “Sure it’ll look good eventually.” Like a year or two.

Abram gazed at him as if he knew Andrew was lying through his teeth, then focused on eating about half of his noodles. When he was finished, he picked up his phone and started texting someone, an intent expression on his face.

All right, that didn’t have the potential for something bad happening, did it? “You’re not doing something stupid, are you?” Andrew asked as he pulled Abram’s leftovers toward him.

“Would I ever do that?” When Andrew didn’t answer, Abram glanced over and then narrowed his eyes at Andrew’s utterly blank face. “Very funny.”

“Let’s see, there was the running off by yourself, the taking knives to a gun fight, need I go on?” Andrew arched an eyebrow at his idiot. “Truth hurts, huh, _babe_.”

“Go to hell, _hon_.”

“Only if I drag you with me.”

Abram met his eyes for a few seconds then returned his attention back to his phone. “Who said romance is dead.”

“Best damn offer you’ll ever get.” Andrew got up to fetch some whiskey to go with all the noodles. “Why aren’t we asked to smack around dumb young fucks?” Not that he really wanted to spend the day in Covent Garden with the crowds and all, but he was a little curious.

“Because that’s just it, Bren smacks them around, he doesn’t stab them,” Abram answered back while he continued texting.

“Seems to me he wouldn’t have to go down there so much if he did a bit of stabbing.” Make an example or two out of the dumb fucks or something to teach all of them a lesson.

“Talking like that leads to lectures on how weapons aren’t meant to resolve everything.” It sounded as if Abram had heard it a time or two. “Also, despite his griping, I think he enjoys it. Gets him out for a bit, Andrea’s a friend and he enjoys running into the kids who know better.”

Long as the man had fun, though it sounded awful, personally. Andrew finished his dinner while Abram fussed with his phone, then did stuff on his laptop for another couple of hours. Despite not doing anything more than sitting around all day, it was an early night for Abram, which didn’t surprise Andrew considering that he was still healing.

He waited to see if his friend went for any of the sleeping pills, but Abram just took a bottle of water with him upstairs. Andrew stayed in the living room until he finished the book, then made sure that everything was locked up before he went to bed himself.

The next morning it was clear that Abram’s nightmares had come back now that he wasn’t being knocked unconscious, judging from the dark circles under his eyes. Yet he was dressed in a pair of form-fitting jeans and an expensive sweater that was probably only one size too big, one that covered him from the neck to the tips of his fingers and was a dark grey.

“I’m going out,” he told Andrew while he leaned against the kitchen counter, a cup of tea held in his hands.

That was a bit of a surprise. “Where are we going?”

“No, _I’m_ going out,” Abram said while shaking his head.

“Do you not remember your uncle telling you that we’re supposed to stick together,” Andrew reminded his idiot. “If you’re going somewhere, so am I.”

“It’s fine, Jamie’s taking me,” Abram told him in-between sips. “I imagine Liz or Jason will be with us as well.”

Andrew’s surprise increased, and he wondered if the texts last night had something to do with today’s little excursion. “What did I say about doing something stupid?”

“Again, I’ll be with Jamie,” Abram repeated with a bit of heat. “It’ll be fine.”

Andrew supposed it was better than his idiot going off with Stuart or Ally. “Nothing stupid,” he repeated. “I will take my time coming to rescue you.”

“Bloody prat,” Abram said, then went off to finish getting ready. Jamie showed up around ten minutes later, with both Jason and Liz in tow, which wasn’t unusual. What did make Andrew raise an eyebrow was Liz staying behind while an excited Jamie hooked her right arm through Abram’s left elbow to drag him off after promising Andrew to return her little cousin in one piece; he wasn’t sure if she caught Abram’s slight flinch, or had chosen to ignore it.

“What’s going on?” Andrew demanded of Liz when the woman went over to help herself to a cup of coffee.

“Don’t know, other than Jamie’s ecstatic and made a bunch of calls last night.” When Andrew continued to stare at her, Liz shook her head. “Honestly, no idea. But she cleared her schedule for most of the day, so I think this is going to take some time.”

That didn’t sound promising. “You really have no idea?” Andrew dragged the fingers of his right hand along his left armband.

Liz caught the gesture and sighed. “No, I don’t, but Jamie did say something about Stuart and then laughed. So whatever it is, he’ll probably hate it.” Like that made it any better. “Come on, Andrew, Abram’s her ‘little cousin’, she’s not going to do anything to hurt him, especially after last week. If anything, she’s so happy about a chance to make him feel better. There’s nothing for you to be jealous about.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed at that bit of nonsense. “There’s _nothing_ to be jealous about, I merely refuse to have to track his ass down and save it again if something goes wrong. It’s getting repetitive.”

“Uh-huh. Okay.” Liz didn’t sound convinced. “Well, he’s with Jamie and Jason, somehow I don’t think that’ll happen today.”

“It better not.” Andrew went to get some coffee himself. “Why are you here?”

“To keep you company?” Liz laughed at the flat look he gave her for that. “Jamie wants me here when she gets back, so here I stay.”

“Don’t get in my way,” Andrew told her as he went to check the fridge for something to eat, and found that Abram must have woken up early since there was a frittata in there waiting to be reheated. Andrew decided to work out first, and despite what he’d just told her, Liz tagged along to help spot him while he lifted weights. Once he was finished with his work-out, she went into the living room to talk to Liliya before her girlfriend had to report to Harrods.

It was a quiet day, with Andrew starting the Russian lessons after his breakfast as a way to pass the time and Liz either watching the news or checking things on her phone. When it got around lunchtime, he found it difficult to concentrate, however.

“Jamie really didn’t tell you anything?” Somehow he refused to believe that.

Liz sighed and put her phone aside. “I get the impression she wanted it to be a surprise, and thought you might try to get the truth out of me, so no, she didn’t.” The enforcer folded her arms over her chest and gave Andrew an even look. “Jamie and Abram aren’t to be messed with, and they have Jason with them. It’s all right.”

But Abram was still nursing some sore ribs, and right now the Moriyamas and Nathan Wesninski were seriously pissed off at Andrew’s idiot, let alone the Hatfords. “He shouldn’t have gone out without me.”

“Honestly? I think he might be doing something for you,” Liz said with a bit of forced cheer. “So sit the fuck down and stop stressing me out, okay?”

That didn’t make any sense – what would Abram be doing for Andrew? The best thing he _could_ do was sit his ass at home and stay out of trouble, not run around London with his cousin.

Andrew had two pints of ice cream and some cheese and potato chip sandwiches while waiting for his idiot to return, and then a couple of things happened. First there was the sound of an unfamiliar engine outside in the driveway, followed by a text to his phone and the alert about the alarm being disengaged. Andrew checked his phone to find that Jamie had disengaged the alarm as well sent the message ‘come out and see’.

She better not be wanting to show him a drugged and beaten up Abram, or else Liz was going to have to find a new Hatford to watch over. Feeling more than a little put out at the moment, he grabbed his leather coat and slipped on a pair of shoes before going out the front door.

There was a brand new Aston Martin parked in the driveway. In fact, it was an Aston Martin Vanquish, of all things, its dark grey paint gleaming despite the overcast sky. What surprised Andrew even more than the fact that a sports car was parked in his driveway was that what looked to be a very white-faced Abram was climbing out of it, along with a beaming Jamie.

A white-faced Abram who was now sporting auburn hair which had been cut and styled, the strands curlier without all the weight dragging them down and hitting the edge of his jaw, save the parts around his ears and the back of his head where it looked as if the stylist had trimmed it in an undercut. Andrew wanted to run his hands through the strands, to comb back the long bangs falling onto Abram’s face, to feel the shaved parts and-

“Bloody hell, couldn’t I have gotten the smaller engine?” Abram complained as he closed the Vanquish’s door.

“You’re talking foolish,” Jamie told him. “Just take it easy, keep it in the lower gears and out of sports mode and you’ll be fine.”

“Bloody hell,” Abram repeated as he ran what looked to be a trembling hand through his hair. “That wasn’t what I meant when I-“ He finally seemed to realize that Andrew was outside and turned to him with an expression resembling panic. “I wanted a Mercedes or something!”

Andrew looked over at the still smiling Jamie. “It is a lot like giving a toddler a Ducati instead of a tricycle.”

“I’m not _that_ bad,” Abram muttered.

“No, he’s not,” Jamie agreed. “He’ll get used to it, just make sure he doesn’t go racing about the first few times.”

“It’s got over five hundred horsepower,” Andrew reminded her, while Abram took to cursing beneath his breath.

“I know.” Jamie merely shrugged. “Dad wanted to get him something special for all the hard work he’s been doing.” That got Abram to quiet down again. “So, what do you think about the new look, hmm?” she asked with a knowing grin as she changed the topic.

Andrew stared at a fidgeting Abram for several seconds and then turned back at the car. “This isn’t a P1.”

For some reason, Jamie’s grin widened. “No, you’ll be getting whatever new one they have when it’s available. That good, eh?”

“Fine. Let’s get it in the garage. If you’re done, go the fuck home.”

“I can get the hint.” Jamie turned toward her cousin. “You want to drive it into the garage?”

Abram’s newly shorn hair flipped around his face while he shook his head. “Hell no.”

Probably a very wise choice if he wasn’t used to the thing yet, especially considering that Andrew’s car was parked in there. “I’ll do it.” He held out his hand and waited for a key fob, which Jamie threw at him before waving goodbye; he saw Liz head over to the car which Jason was sitting in so she could leave with him and Jamie as he got into the Aston Martin.

After adjusting the seat, he pulled it into the garage and decided it wouldn’t be a bad thing, if he had to drive it instead of Abram. He didn’t know what had made his friend decide to get a new car all of a sudden, unless it was more of that ‘taking control’ stuff, but not bad, not bad at all. Much better than some Mercedes sedan the idiot probably had in mind.

Once the car was in the garage, Andrew went into the townhouse to join Abram; he found his idiot in the kitchen pouring a shot or two of gin. "What happened to not driving more than a V6?"

"Jamie happened. I wanted a bloody sedan, but she wouldn't hear it." Abram tossed back the alcohol and shuddered a little as he swallowed. The entire time, Andrew couldn't look away, couldn't help but stare at the now auburn hair, at how the strands made Andrew want to them touch even more. The color suited Abram much better than the stark black, drew the eye to him and... and... _fuck_. "I mean, I can't even pick my own car." He looked up when Andrew came to a stop next to him. "Ah, hello?" he said while blinking in surprise.

Enough about the car; Andrew reached up to pull on one of the shorter strands framing Abram's face, until the almost curl was straight. "You're a redhead. Go figure, with that temper of yours."

"Very funny." Abram's blue eyes, which still were so brilliant despite the lack of dark hair color, narrowed at Andrew - the stylist had even done the idiot's brows. "Like that's not going to get old."

"I told you, the truth hurts." Andrew gave the strand between his fingers a quick tug. "What brought this on?" Not that he was complaining, not in the least.

Abram shrugged while he batted at Andrew's hand, which only made Andrew let go of the lock before threading his fingers through a handful of hair. "I, ah, well, figured might as well get it over with." The idiot shivered, but Andrew didn't think it was out of fear or he would have let go. "I'd forgotten what it looked like, you know. It's been so long - I've been dyeing my hair since I was ten."

"It's not bad," Andrew lied. "No wonder you're such an idiot, if you've been pouring chemicals on your brain for so long."

"Why do I bother?" Abram muttered, and Andrew took the question to be a rhetorical one. All too aware of his hand in his idiot's hair and how close they were standing together, of how little they'd touched the last few days other than to reassure the other (to settle Abram), Andrew bridged the slight space between them while his left hand hovered over Abram’s hip.

“Yes or no?” he asked while he stared into those blue eyes; with all the times he’d imagined Abram with his natural coloring, he hadn’t quite pictured _this_. The reality was so much better.

The tip of Abram’s tongue swiped out to wet his lips, and for a moment Andrew thought the answer was going to be negative. “Yes,” Abram replied as his hands lifted in a silent question.

“Above the waist,” Andrew said before he rocked forward for a kiss, mindful of his fingers in Abram’s hair after what had happened a few days ago. The idiot tasted of gin and was a little hesitant at first, but when Andrew broke off the kiss, his mouth chased along Andrew’s jaw and his hands stroked over Andrew’s chest.

Encouraged by that, Andrew slid his left hand under Abram’s sweater to caress his fingers along his friend’s spine, and bit down on a low moan that fought to escape at the feel of Abram’s lips on his neck while he shivered. Dammit, if the idiot was going to do _that_ … he dragged the tips of his fingers down Abram’s back the same time that he rocked his hips forward.

Abram’s responding groan of pleasure made Andrew want to smirk, but he put his mouth to better use nipping at the spot beneath his idiot’s left ear. “Yes?” he asked after Abram groaned again, his hands now on the hem of the Brit’s sweater.

“Yuh-yes.” Abram shivered as he tilted his head back, so Andrew nipped a couple more times before he drew the sweater up and then threw it aside, and only hesitated a moment before removing his own. There was some satisfaction in the way that Abram’s hands were so quick to touch his chest and abdomen once his upper body was exposed, in the spark of desire in those blue eyes. In knowing that Abram wanted _him_ , especially when the idiot didn’t seem to notice anyone else.

Andrew slowly stepped away from the counter until his back was against the wall leading to the living room, the plaster cool against his skin. It wasn’t an ideal position, but somehow he didn’t think that Abram would appreciate their positions being reversed just then, or anyone looming over him. Not when Andrew caught the quick flash of a grateful smile before he leaned in for another kiss while Abram was quick to press against him.

He ran his hands over Abram’s back, mindful of the healing bruises, fingers skimming over the familiar ridges of scars while his hips rocked back and forth, while the delicious friction and gentle caresses made the pleasure coil tighter and tighter inside of him. Unable to resist for much longer, his right hand slid once more into Abram’s hair, fingertips tingling over the freshly shaved part before curling in the longer strands.

“Ohhh… hell,” Abram murmured as he hung on to Andrew’s left shoulder, the fingers of his other hand brushing teasing strokes along Andrew’s right side. His breath hitched when Andrew took to sucking on the crook of his neck. “Bloody hell.”

Exactly. Andrew’s left hand slipped beneath the waistband of Abram’s jeans for a moment, and when there wasn’t any reaction, pulled the idiot into a rolling thrust. The resulting moan made Andrew close his eyes even as he lifted his head and ran his fingers around to the front of Abram’s jeans. “Yes?” he asked while he opened his eyes.

Eyes darkened with passion, Abram stared at him for a couple of seconds before shuddering. “Yes.” Then he bit into his bottom lip, the sight of which made Andrew do another rolling thrust. “You, too?”

The question made Andrew pause, and for a moment it looked as if Abram might back down, might look away or say something. And then he leaned in to nuzzle along Andrew’s jaw as his fingers once more skimmed along Andrew’s side. “You, too?” he asked, that time in a softer tone as if to make it clear that he wasn’t demanding anything – but by asking again, it was evident that he didn’t want Andrew to just say ‘no’ without thinking about it.

In other words, if it was too much for Andrew, then Abram would drop it. But if it was Andrew trying to be in control….

So Andrew thought about it, thought about what he wanted and what was acceptable while he huffed and gave the handful of auburn strands he was holding a gentle tug to make his idiot stop so _he_ could do the nuzzling. When Abram’s hands clung to his sides and there was a low moan in response, he finally gave his answer. “Yes.”

He undid both of their jeans so he could push their pants and underwear down their hips; Abram’s hands were still on the sides of his ribs, per the ‘not below the waist’ rule. Andrew ran the back of his fingers along his friend’s lean, muscular thighs and enjoyed the muttered curse that wrung from Abram, then hooked his right arm around his idiot’s waist. “Put your hand on mine.”

“Eh?” Surprised by that, Abram blinked a couple of times before figuring it out when Andrew wrapped his left hand around both of their hard cocks. “Ahh.”

“Idiot,” Andrew said before he nipped at Abram’s pulse, mindful of his teeth.

“You pra-ah, never mind.” Abram closed his eyes as their hands began to move in unison, their hips rocking together and breaths speeding up. Abram’s slightly bruised face grew more flushed, and Andrew shivered at the teasing feel of fingers along his chest, near his neck.

The pleasure continued to build inside of him, from all the places Abram was touching him, from the sight of Abram before him, so beautiful and open and openly admiring, from having Abram so close to him like this, grinding against him and it only feeling so damn _good_. He came first, a small gasp slipping free even as he pressed his lips against his idiot’s, and then Abram soon followed when Andrew palmed his ass and pulled him in to a particularly hard thrust.

Hearing Abram call out his name like that made him shiver again, made him start thinking about things that he… that he’d rarely thought about before. That he’d never thought about with Roland. The damn _want_ wasn’t letting up, though.

“Oooh, that-“

“Don’t say ‘thank you,” Andrew snapped as he slumped against the wall with Abram resting against him. He didn’t want to hear it, didn’t want to be reminded of how Abram had no reason to ‘thank’ any of those bastards who had touched him before.

“Uhm, okay.” Abram seemed uncertain just then, so Andrew threaded his clean fingers through his idiot’s hair and pulled him in for a quick kiss.

“Still trying to decide if I like it,” he said as means of a distraction, then gave a slight tug on the strands to emphasize what he meant.

When he figured it out, Abram’s eyes narrowed as he pulled away. “First, you don’t get a vote in this. Second, who was it who bitched at me to stop with the black dye in the first place and ‘lose a few issues’? Bloody _prat_!” he all but shouted as he went over to the island to grab a couple of napkins so he could clean himself up; Andrew followed to do the same.

“Maybe blond would be better.”

“I think we have enough blond assholes around here,” Abram said, voice dripping with derision, before he did up his pants then threw out the napkins. He gave Andrew an almost lethal look as he left the kitchen to go upstairs, probably to properly clean up and change.

So much better when he was all fired up, Andrew decided as he went to his own bedroom as well. When he returned to the first floor, he was mindful of Abram’s mood, intent on seeing if what they’d done had some sort of impact on his friend. Other than some lingering resentment over Andrew being an ‘asshole’, Abram appeared fine. After about an hour, Abram resumed talking to Andrew (well, talking to him without a heavy dose of sarcasm) while he worked on translating some documents and Andrew read a book.

When Bren stopped by to drop off their dinner, he did a double-take upon seeing Abram. "Oh, wow. _Wow._ " He gave Andrew a smug grin while he put the take-out containers down on the island. "Bet you're a happy man now, huh?"

Andrew gave him a bland look for the comment, grabbed his food and got out of the way.

"Happy? About what?" Abram asked with that disturbing smile on his face while he slipped a knife free.

"Fuck." The blood drained from Bren's broad face as he took a tentative step back while glancing at Andrew, as if hoping for some help; Andrew ignored him while biting into a piece of garlic bread. "Uhm, I'll be... yeah. Bye." The enforcer obviously decided that it was in his best interest to flee, and flee quickly, before Abram put that knife to good use.

"Maybe I should have just let it grow out," Abram muttered as he returned the blade to its band. "That's going to grow annoying."

Andrew reached out with his butter-free hand to drag his fingers through the auburn strands when his friend approached to grab the remaining take-out container. "Suck it up. Best to just get it over with at once."

Abram frowned at that for a moment, and then smiled, his whole face lighting up in a way that twisted about Andrew’s stomach and brought back that damn heartburn. "You do like it."

"You're imagining things," Andrew said as he went to fetch a fork so he could eat his pasta.

"Then you won't care if I dye it back?"

Andrew flung a fork at his idiot. When Abram yelped, he gave him a bland look. "For your dinner."

"I've a sudden urge to do more cooking," Abram said after he picked up the fork and dropped it into the sink.

"What, feel like being a productive member of society for once?"

"No, I figured I'd try my hand at a couple of my mother's old 'recipes', screw the damn grout,” Abram grumbled as he went to get his own fork.

It took a moment for the meaning to sink in, for Andrew to remember what his idiot had said about Mary Hatford using poison in the past, which caused him to give Abram a disgruntled look. "Someone's about to get pilled."

"Go ahead and try it, _hon_ ," Abram said with a mocking smile that showed off his nice white teeth. "You don't need all of those fingers."

Someone certainly lived up to those redhead stereotypes, didn't they? Still, Andrew merely showed off his own teeth as he bit into a piece of garlic bread, which led to some vicious muttering - in what sounded to be Japanese, now. It was such a shame that Andrew had to give up his Eastern European language card.

"You're going to run out of languages eventually," he told his idiot.

That just made Abram say the insult louder, still in Japanese; Andrew figured there had to be someone else in the family who spoke the language, considering the whole Moriyama mess, as he made a show of picking up another slice of garlic bread.

The rest of the dinner passed without incident or any more obvious threats, which was a bit of a surprise, but it had been an eventful day, all in all. New look, new car, some… whatever it was between them. Andrew making sure that the whole Lola mess hadn’t left too much of a scar on Abram – that was something he could tell himself without too much difficulty. They finished their food and Andrew had some ice cream while Abram cleaned up, then Abram mentioned that he only had a little more work to do, which wouldn’t take long.

Andrew went outside afterwards to have a cigarette; he took his phone with him and called a wary Bren to ask about something, and felt some satisfaction in arranging plans for the next day. When he went back inside, it was to find Abram with a mug of tea in hand waiting for him on the couch so they could watch a movie together.

There was no reason whatsoever for him to feel that odd feeling in his chest at the sight, dammit. He was angry all of a sudden, angry at Bee for no longer being there, no longer being available for him to call so he could dump all of this... this... _whatever_ on her, to sit down with a mug of hot chocolate while she talked on and on until it somewhat made sense. Because none of it did, really. Abram trusting him, wanting to spend evenings sitting next to him watching movies that confused the hell out of the idiot because he didn't know any of the people starring in them or half of the backstories or context since he was a social moron. Wanting to spend time with _Andrew._ Yet he did, and Andrew felt that damn, confusing _contentment_ while sitting next to him.

No reason.

When he went to bed that night, he had his first nightmare of Drake since carving up the bastard – except instead of the bastard pushing _him_ down on the bed, on holding him down and- It was Abram, in the dream. It was Abram and Andrew just stood there helpless on the side, stood there unable to do a damn thing while Lola watched from the other side of the bed and laughed, laughed and cheered Drake on.

He was fumbling for a knife when he woke up, anger and hate and some other awful emotion churning in his chest. He was also covered in sweat, his body trembling, and it felt like forever before he could calm down, before he could breathe normally. Even then, the awful emotions wouldn’t go away, not after having a cigarette, not after taking a shower, so he found himself going to the next floor down and trying the knob on Abram’s door.

It was unlocked.

Opening the door as slowly as possible, he hunched over a little, mindful of his idiot’s habit of throwing things, and crept inside, just wanting to make sure that Abram was there and all right. Once he was in the room, he heard a sleepy voice.

“Andrew?”

Abram was fine. Except he was sitting up in bed, tousled hair only half-hiding his face due to its shorter length, eyes dark holes as he seemed to look in Andrew’s direction with something shiny in his hand. With a knife in his hand.

“Go back to sleep,” Andrew told him.

“I, ah, wasn’t sleeping. Not really.” Abram seemed to be putting the knife away. “It’s… well, it’ll get better,” he said, voice quiet.

Andrew paused in the process of leaving the room, mind going back to how Abram had looked that morning. “Do you regret what happened? With Lola?” Did he blame Andrew for any of that?

“No,” Abram said without any hesitation.

Andrew considered the answer, considered how Abram had been the last few days. He still felt that he could have done more back in that derelict building, should have stepped in when Elias had grabbed Abram even if they were outnumbered and Lola had deliberately been testing him… but what was done was done. Abram felt that it had gone the way it had for a reason. Abram was mostly right about all of it – yet maybe if Andrew had longer to plan, had known more about who Lola was going to bring….

There was no way to change the past, and regret was a useless emotion, in the end.

“Uhm, are you going to stand there all night?”

“No,” Andrew said as he stepped toward the bed to grab the folded blanket off of the bottom of it, the one he’d seen Abram wrap himself in sometimes when he retreated to his bed to sulk. “Give me a pillow,” he ordered while he held out his hand.

Abram blinked at him a couple of times before doing what he’d been told, and once Andrew had the pillow, he went over to the rather comfortable chair he’d spent a night in once before.

“Ah, so you’re… I guess so.” Abram watched as Andrew made himself comfortable on the chair. “There’s more blankets in the closet.”

That was good to know; Andrew dragged the foot rest closer and then tucked the blanket around him.  When he was settled in the chair, he looked over to find that Abram had laid back down on the bed as well, and allowed the exhaustion he felt to pull him back to sleep.

There were no more nightmares after that.

He woke up when Abram got out of bed, and allowed his idiot to drag him along for a morning run; it wasn’t as long or as fast as usual, considering that Abram was still recovering, but it made Abram feel better, made him smile and chased away the bit of darkness remaining in his eyes. Andrew worked out a little more with weights while Abram cooked them breakfast, and after a quick shower sat down to chocolate chip pancakes, of all things. The only thing more surprising than the breakfast (and no smoke alarm going off) was watching Abram attempt to finish the three on his plate.

“How can you eat those things?” Abram complained after giving up halfway through the stack in favor of some toast. “Seriously, was there some brain damage when you were a child? Something that makes you not realize how sweet everything is?”

“Only something that allows me to suffer idiots, apparently,” Andrew said as he grabbed the plate and added syrup to the half-eaten pancakes.

Abram smiled at that. “Your life, so hard.” He made to reach for his phone, until he got a spoon thrown at him.

“Don’t, or I’ll break it,” Andrew warned, and gave a flat look in return of the innocent one directed his way.

“Do what?” When Andrew’s eyes narrowed, Abram’s smile widened. “So how are they?”

Andrew just shrugged while he continued to eat.

“I take that as you like _them_ , too,” Abram said with evident satisfaction while he fussed with the toaster. Andrew’s eyes narrowed again; someone was getting much too smug, but he’d deal with that later – after he finished the pancakes.

When breakfast was over and Abram was left to clean up the mess, he informed his idiot that they had plans for the day, so be ready in about half an hour. Abram was left confused about that, but he was indeed ready on time, dressed much like he’d been the day before, in jeans and a fitted sweater. Andrew nodded in approval and went down to the garage – to the Aston Martin.

“We’re not taking the McLaren?”

“Not today.” Andrew waited to see if Abram wanted to drive and wasn’t surprised when Abram motioned that it was fine for him to get behind the wheel. Well, it was fine for _then_.

They left the townhouse and went off toward Ilford, toward a private race track not too far from a public one that Bren had told Andrew about, where they had some time reserved for the day. Abram stared at it in wonder when they pulled up to it and Andrew got out to talk to one of the men standing by the gate leading to the course, who must have been waiting for them.

Once it was cleared that they had the track for a few hours, he went back to the Vanquish and slowly drove it forward while Abram stared at him. “So… we’re here so you can race the car?”

“No, we’re here so you can learn to drive the thing,” Andrew explained, though he wouldn’t complain if he got a chance behind the wheel. As soon as they were on the track, he parked the car and then motioned to Abram. “Your turn now,” he said before he got out so they could switch seats.

It was obvious that spending the day in an unfamiliar and powerful car racing around a track wasn’t Abram’s idea of fun, but he didn’t complain and he seemed to grasp the logic behind it. As soon as he was comfortable behind the wheel, he began to take slow laps around the curving track as if familiarizing himself with the vehicle, in learning how it handled and the layout of the course. Before Andrew got too bored, he slowly upped the speed.

It was clear that he wasn’t someone who loved cars for the sake of driving, for the sake of going fast. It was also clear that he hadn’t been lying when he said that he knew how to drive, and Andrew had to wonder just how many miles he’d driven across Europe during those years on the run. Despite being a bit ‘rusty’, he had the basics down pat, and knew how to handle a car when it started to drift, knew not to panic and to remain calm as the car fought to get away from him. He had more of a problem figuring out the paddle shifters and the electronics, which made sense if he was used to driving older cars.

By the second hour, he had the car in the higher gears and the scenery was going past them in a blur as Abram tore through the track, his face set in a blank mask and his knuckles almost white around the steering wheel. Andrew waited until he went around the track several times like that and then motioned for him to pull over to where one of the track employees could fill the Aston Martin up with gas. “Not bad,” he said while he motioned for them to get out and step a few feet away.

“Thank you,” Abram replied, his voice quiet. Then he let out a long, slow breath. “Thank you,” he repeated, sounding a bit more certain that time. “It was a good idea. I feel like I can actually drive the damn thing now.” He gave Andrew a lopsided smile.

Andrew motioned for them to step away a bit farther so he could have a cigarette, and noticed how Abram’s hands shook a little when he accepted one. “Why did you ask for a car?”

Abram seemed to think on the question while he held the cigarette cupped near his face so he could breathe in the trailing plumes of smoke. “Because it was time for me to let go of _that_ issue, too,” he admitted. “Because I didn’t want to keep relying on someone for something as simple as going somewhere.” His lips quirked as he glanced at Andrew. “You never got me that bicycle, _hon_. What was I supposed to do if you I had to pick you up?”

“That is definitely more than a bicycle,” Andrew had to admit, as he felt that damn warm… warm _thing_ in his chest again. Had Abram gotten the car in part because of him? In case Andrew called him again needing help? “So do you want to do a few more laps?”

“No, I think I’m good now,” Abram said while shaking his head. “Should be able to get it out of second gear without killing us.”

“ _Should_ ,” Andrew taunted as he ground out his cigarette. “Then it’s my turn.”

“Like I didn’t see this coming,” Abram said, laughter tinging his voice and his smile brighter as he followed Andrew to the car. Once back in it and the settings readjusted, Andrew pulled it back onto the track and allowed himself some fun.

It wasn’t the McLaren, but it was indeed ‘fun’. Andrew promised himself that they’d be out on the track soon in his car, but for now he made do with the Aston. Abram grumbled a little as they continued to go around the track, but he noticed the slight smile on his idiot’s face.

After about an hour, Andrew decided that they’d had enough and pulled over so Abram could once again get behind the wheel and drive them back home, to learn how to handle the car in city traffic. He did a better job than when bringing it home the day before, though still seemed relieved to park it in the garage and be done with it. “I’m glad I have it, but I think I much prefer you being the chauffer,” he told Andrew as they went upstairs.

“More chocolate chip pancakes tomorrow,” Andrew told him. Hmm, he’d have to tell Bren to pick up some whipped cream, then.

“Prat,” Abram muttered, but how odd that it didn’t really sound like an insult anymore.

Andrew figured that if they were daring to venture outside of the house, Abram could restart paying for those dinners he ‘owed’ Andrew. He picked a small restaurant that night, one in Chelsea that wasn’t too popular or pretentious, and noticed how people took to staring at Abram as they walked from the car, while they sat at the table. The red hair was a lot more conspicuous than the black, especially with Abram wearing a dark grey sweater that showed off his slim yet fit upper body. When the strands falling around his face highlighted his blue eyes and high cheekbones, that damn full bottom lip which Andrew felt the oddest urge to bite into at times. He felt like calling Jamie up and cursing her out just then, for asking her _why? –_ didn’t she know it was already bad enough, dealing with the idiot and his obliviousness? And now the damn server was all but gaping at Abram while waiting for him to place his drink order.

“Ah, the Chilean Malbec,” he told her with a faint frown while holding out the drink menu. “That’s… all?”

“Balblair, neat,” Andrew told her while she fumbled with the menus, an unbecoming blush spreading across her face. “And the cheese plate.”

“Yu-yes sir,” she said in a rush as she took a step back, almost colliding with a fellow server carrying a tray of drinks to another table. Abram frowned in her direction for a moment before turning toward Andrew, and then sighed as he propped his chin up on his right hand.

“What did I do now?” When all Andrew did was continue to give him a bland look, he sighed again. “Oh no, that’s your ‘he’s a blithering idiot, why do I put up with him?’ look. What did I do?”

It was the fact that Abram just _didn’t_ get it. Andrew supposed it should be counted as a blessing of sorts, except that he didn’t believe in such things. Renee would probably say it was just a facet of Abram’s demi nature, that he wasn’t interested in other people and Andrew should be comforted by the fact that Abram found _him_ notable. Nicky would – all right, enough of this bullshit. Abram was an oblivious, blithering idiot and Andrew was going to end up stabbing a bastard who didn’t realize that Abram didn’t know they were flirting with him, end of story.

Hmm, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad after all. Except for Stuart bitching when he found out.

“Stop staring at me,” Andrew told him, which earned him a damn smile of all things, at least until the server returned with their drinks.

After Abram had about half of his wine and threw a cracker at Andrew while mumbling something in Japanese beneath his breath, things appeared to return to normal for the rest of the dinner. There were the familiar grimaces at how much Andrew ordered, and new ones when he seemed to forget that his hair was shorter and went to tuck it back behind his ears, only for it to slip free a minute or two later. There were the smiles at something Andrew did or said, and the too-blank looks when people came too close to the table or when there was a loud noise elsewhere in the restaurant.

They talked about possibly going back to Stuttgart, if Jamie and Stuart got over the whole ‘stay at home’ thing anytime soon. Just for a couple of days to check in on Nicky and Erik, maybe visit Cologne while they were at it as a nice break from London. Andrew was tempted to make a road trip out of it, but that would probably require them to be gone too long. One day they’d do it.

It occurred to him that he was thinking of future road trips with Abram, of the two of them in the Aston Martin driving across Europe, visiting Nicky and then exploring on their own. That he was thinking long term with another _person_. With one person in particular.

It had always been just himself, growing up. No one but himself. There had been Cass… but that had been nothing but wishful thinking, a deluded fantasy. Even if it _had_ worked out, she wouldn’t have been his, he would have just had a place in her home, would have just been another Spear. Andrew Joseph Spear. Even though he’d nearly bled himself dry wanting it to come true, had allowed Drake to – no.

And then Aaron? It had never been just the two of them, Andrew and Aaron. It had been the agreement between them, which Aaron had never really understood, had never truly honored. An agreement which he had been more than happy to trample upon and declare null and void, over and done with once they’d graduated from Palmetto State and Andrew no longer a part of his life.

So Andrew had gotten the hint, had figured that it hadn’t been worth trying anymore. What was the point? He was too fucked up for anyone else, and no one would understood what he needed. Would want him once they saw him for what he really was.

Then came along Abram, an impossible pipe dream who was once more staring at him, this time in confusion. “Ah, is everything all right? Something wrong with your dish?” Abram glanced around as if searching for their server.

“It’s _fine_ ,” Andrew said as he twirled his fork in his lobster risotto, which actually was really good, before reaching for his whiskey. It was just the thoughts in his head right then that weren’t…. were what? What were the points of epiphanies when you still had no damn clue what they meant?

“All right.” Abram settled back in his chair then had another bite of his chicken dish, his head bowed so that the auburn stands hid his face, before he spoke again. “Ah, Ally sent me something,” he said after a few seconds, his voice quiet and a little uncertain as if wary of Andrew’s mood.

“What, a link to a porn site?”

That made Abram smile when he lifted his head. “No, he stopped that after I asked Jason for something to erase his hard drive.” There was that hint of the idiot’s ‘scary’ side for a moment. “This was about some new ice cream place which sells flavors based on alcohol. For some odd reason, he thought you might be interested. Especially since the whiskey ones are supposed to be really good.”

God damn epiphanies and god damn heart burn, Andrew thought as he stared at his idiot. “It’s still considered your treat since it’ll be dessert.”

“Of course,” Abram sighed as he cut into his chicken. “Are we going to see how much we can cram into that damn car of yours, _hon_?”

“Of course, _babe,_ ” Andrew said before he had a bite of his own dinner.

*******

Abram smiled when he heard Andrew practice his Russian in the living room while he sat in the kitchen and worked on some documents for Jamie. His friend’s accent was still atrocious, but he was slowly getting better. _Slowly_.

What made it even more amusing was the look on Andrew’s face while he studied, the slight furrow between his straight brows and the intent look in his eyes as if he was daring the language to challenge him; somehow, only Andrew would consider a foreign language as something to beat into submission.

Abram called out a few corrections, and after a couple of tries, Andrew got down the proper pronunciation. It would probably be a few more weeks before they could carry on a conversation together, but once again, Andrew’s amazing memory and intelligence would aid him in learning the language quickly, along with his determination.

Focusing his attention back on the documents, Abram finished with them and then wondered what he and Andrew would do for the rest of the night, if they would go out to eat or if they would stay in and watch a movie. There still hadn’t been any sort of overt revenge from Abram’s father or Ichiro as of yet, so Jamie preferred for him and Andrew to keep their excursions away from the townhouse to a minimum.

Not that Abram _wanted_ an attack or another kidnapping attempt, not when his ribs still ached and he’d just managed to get a full night’s sleep for once, but it would be nice to feel as if life had returned to normal. Or whatever ‘normal’ was for him. To know that he could go out whenever he wanted, could get on a plane and travel somewhere.

He’d just sent off the files to Jamie when Andrew came into the kitchen to fetch one of the pints of ice cream they’d brought home the other night, so he got up to put on some tea. “Why don’t you just let it melt and drink the stuff? You could probably get more in your system that way.”

“Like I haven’t heard that before.” Andrew flung the lid to the pint of ice cream Abram’s way before digging in with a spoon. “What is it with you and sweets?”

“I just don’t like them.” Abram shrugged as he started the water boiling; he’d never cared for them while growing up, and it wasn’t like he had much of a chance to enjoy them while on the run with his mother. A treat to him had been fruit, something fresh and tart, to balance out all the cheap food his mother bought because of them rarely being able to cook properly and saving their money. “Just means more for you.”

Andrew grunted at that and continued to devour the dessert while Abram prepared his tea. They had begun to talk about plans for the evening when there was an alert for the alarm system, followed by a text from Jamie. Surprised by his cousin coming for a visit so unexpectedly, Abram frowned while Andrew went to the front door.

Jamie came with Liz, both of them unusually somber which wasn’t a good sign at all. For a moment, Abram worried that the Moriyamas or his father had done something, had found a way to hurt his family. “What is it?” he asked as he came out of the kitchen.

Jamie shook her head, not bothering to undo her coat as she approached Abram. “I received a call today, and I wanted to tell you in person.” She hesitated a moment, until Andrew came to stand beside Abram. “Jain will be in town sometime within the next day or so.”

“Okay.” Abram’s fingers caught at the edge of the sleeves of his sweater as the words sunk in. “He’s coming to London.” He thought of too long nights in expensive hotel rooms, of being down on his knees, on lying still on the bed as- the feel of a hand on the nape of his neck jerked him back into the present.

“ _Why_?” Andrew demanded to know, his attention on Jamie but his hand warm on Abram’s skin.

“I believe it’s because of the mess with the Moriyamas,” Jamie answered. “Ichiro went after one of Xue’s assets, something like that.” She nodded to Abram. “He wants to talk to you and me, which means I can’t send you away.”

“Understandable.” Abram shivered a little as he ran his right hand through his hair, which caused Andrew’s grip on the back of his neck to tighten. “Let me know when and where.”

“Abram… we’ll back you on whatever you decide.” Jamie gave a pointed look in Andrew’s direction. “Let this be just about business moving forward, dammit. What did I tell you about being selfish?”

That was so easy for her to say, wasn’t it? Especially when they needed Xue’s protection more than ever. Yet Andrew had told Abram right from the start that he had to choose, that Andrew wouldn’t allow there to be anything between them if he went off with Jain. “Okay,” was all he said as he struggled to not panic, to not start hyperventilating.

Jamie shared a look with Liz then made to step closer before she seemed to think better of it. “I’ll send along any information I get about his visit, and do my best to keep him occupied myself – me, Dad and Uncle Stuart. Until then, just… just stay here, all right? I know it’s getting annoying, but just stay here.”

“Send me everything,” Andrew said as he let go of Abram’s neck so he could see the two women out the door, his motions jerky with contained anger or something. While he did that, Abram went back to the kitchen and almost grabbed something alcoholic before he decided that he didn’t need anything muddling his thoughts just then. No, the panic was doing more than a good enough job of that.

His hands trembled as he poured the tea, causing some of the hot liquid to splash onto the counter. He was cleaning up the mess when Andrew returned; his friend watched him in silence while Abram wiped down the counter then threw away the paper towel.

The silence stretched on for about a minute, during which Andrew fetched himself some whisky. “You’re going to tell him to fuck off.” When Abram didn’t say anything, just attempted to figure out if he could pick up the mug without getting hot tea all over himself, Andrew slammed the bottle of alcohol onto the counter. “Are you? Because I wasn’t kidding, what I told you.”

“I know,” Abram said as he wrapped his arms around his chest, suddenly feeling hollowed out and frozen inside. “I know, it’s just… I don’t know what to do.” He honestly didn’t know what was the right thing to do just then. On the one hand, there was his family, were the people who had given up so much to protect him. The people he had sworn to protect – and Andrew was included in that now. On the other hand, there was Andrew… and Abram wasn’t certain what he would do if Andrew walked away. If he came home and found Andrew gone, because he didn’t know if he could deal with something like the other week if Andrew wasn’t there to pick him up, to watch his back and make him feel safe. To make him feel like he had a home to come back to, a reason to get through the horror. “I don’t _know_.”

Andrew didn’t say anything else until he drained the large tumbler dry of the whiskey that it contained. Then he set the glass down with a bit too much control, his face that awful blank mask which Abram detested as he stared at the cabinet door in front of him – as he refused to look at Abram. “You need to figure it out, because what I said still stands. I can’t accept you going off to him whenever he shows up and crooks his fingers.” He let out a slow breath as he ran his hands through his pale, short hair. “I can’t – there’s no way to trust you, after that.”

What he said made sense. It made utter sense. Abram knew that if he went off with Jain, it would destroy so much of what he’d struggled with the last several weeks with Andrew, what he’d forced himself to move past. He’d made a point to regain control, to stop just giving in, and he was actually _happy_. He thought that maybe Andrew was happy, too.

“Are you… are you going to leave, if I do?” he asked, the words hoarse as a terrible fear griped him at that thought.

Andrew didn’t answer right away, he stood there staring at the cabinet as if it was one of his bloody books, and then he picked up the whisky bottle. “No, I promised that I’d keep you safe, and I will. But I’ll never touch you again,” he swore as he left the kitchen with the bottle, mindful to give Abram a wide berth.

Alone in the kitchen, Abram stood there as misery and guilt and some gnawing, awful feeling tore threw him, until he found himself huddled on the floor, his back against the wooden cabinet and arms wrapped around his knees. His mother’s voice, sharp and furious, screamed inside of his head about him being _so stupid_ , about never letting anyone in, about why it was suicidal and foolish and just so stupid to trust anyone who wasn’t her. To give in to something as stupid as _emotions_. Because a pretty face and a smile didn’t mean anything, didn’t mean you could trust them. Didn’t mean they’d been there when you would need them.

Except Andrew had been, and was. Andrew had promised to be there when Abram would need him, even if Abram did something stupid. Why did it seem as if Abram was always doing something stupid?

He should have just stayed on the beach that night all those years ago, should have stayed in the water as the tide came in, the cold waves lapping farther and farther up his legs as he stared off at the horizon, at the hint of the sun overcoming the darkness. Should have let the water carry him away and saved so many people so much grief – drowning wasn’t the best death, but compared to what he’d endured before and since then? It wouldn’t have been too bad.

Yet he hadn’t stayed on that beach, he’d made a phone call, and with that one decision he’d affected so many lives. Now he had to figure out what to do.

His body aching from sitting on the tiled floor, he got up and made a fresh pot of tea, which he took with him into the living room. The fire which Andrew had made earlier had almost died out, so he put on some more wood before he tucked himself onto the love seat, wrapped up in blankets in an attempt to thaw out that awful coldness which had settled into his core, then made a phone call.

“What’s going on, kiddo?” Stuart’s voice was a bit subdued, so Abram assumed that his uncle had heard about Jain’s visit.

“Can… can you talk?” he asked the man, uncertain if his uncle was busy or not and not wanting to bother him.

“Can I – fuck, hold on a moment.” There were muffled sounds as if Stuart’s hand was over the phone, and Abram smiled a little despite everything, at the thought of his uncle doing that rather than hitting the ‘mute’ button. Then Stuart was back. “All right, we’re good. We can do this now or I can come over.”

“Now’s fine,” Abram said, preferring to talk over the phone rather than his uncle visiting and possibly setting off Andrew. Then it sunk in that he had to talk. “Uhm… can I ask you something?”

“Sure, whatever.” Then Stuart seemed to rethink it. “I mean, mostly whatever. This isn’t _that_ talk, is it?”

“Hmm?” Abram frowned as he tried to figure out what his uncle meant, and nearly dropped the phone when he thought he had a clue. “Oh bloody hell, _no_.” First, there was no way in any hell he was going to ask Stuart about _that_ , and second? He had more than enough knowledge about that topic. Too much knowledge, really.

“Good, good,” Stuart said, sounding more than a little relieved. “So, what is it about?”

Well, the topic Abram had in mind might not be that much better. “Ah, why aren’t you… I mean… why are you still single?” he asked in a rush. “Why don’t you have someone, like Uncle Will?” Will had Aunt Miriam, and his mother… well, maybe not the best example, but still, she had found someone even if that had been an utter fuck-up of a relationship.

Stuart let out a slow breath. “Oh boy, didn’t see that one coming.” He was quiet on the other end of the line, while Abram had some tea. “It’s never worked out for me, Ram. There’s been a few women I’ve dated, but none who I thought could handle things in the long run. It’s not an easy life.”

Abram had heard of his uncle dating a couple of times over the years, comments made by Davis and other enforcers, some light-hearted teasing, but he’d never met the women, had never heard of any of the relationships becoming serious. For all of his uncle’s prickly nature, he was an attractive man and intelligent, was someone whom Abram thought would be a ‘good catch’… except that yes, he killed people for a living, he traveled a lot and he worked for a mob family. Not something one could put on their Tinder profile without raising eyebrows.

“So it’s not worth it?” Stuart seemed to do fine, living on his own. There had to be some way he managed that, to get through the darkness and the rough times without someone to hold him together. It was probably the family that did it for him.

Things were quiet again for almost a minute. “Ram… is something going on with you and the mid- Minyard?”

“I’m just curious,” Abram said, not wanting to admit certain things and unwilling to get Andrew in trouble just then – he knew that Stuart tended to blame his friend for things.

“I need a damn drink,” Stuart sighed, and then there was the sound of him lighting a cigarette before taking a long inhale. “Did Jamie talk to you? About… well, did she talk to you today?”

“I know about Jain.” Abram felt the need for a cigarette himself right about then, but settled for another sip of tea.

“And how is the – what does Minyard think of everything, huh?” Stuart’s voice sounded rough just then, and Abram didn’t think it was from the cigarette. “Huh, kiddo?”

Considering that he was asking such a personal question, Abram figured he owed his uncle the truth. “He thinks I should tell Jain ‘no’, that I’m being used.” He didn’t tell Stuart about the ultimatum.

“He’s fucking _right_ ,” Stuart snapped. “You don’t have to do that anymore, kiddo. You _never_ had to do it, for fuck’s sake.”

Not what Abram wanted to hear just then, after the last few years. “But he’s-”

“No, dammit! Listen to me, Xue’s not going to let everything we’ve built up over the years be tossed aside because one of his men isn’t getting- because he got dumped. And if he does? He’s not someone we want to deal with anyway.”

“We need him,” Abram argued. “Now more than ever.”

Stuart was quiet as he exhaled. “He’s not family, Ram. You are, so trust me when I say that we don’t need him that fucking much. So listen – fuck, never thought I’d say this – listen to the damn midget, yeah? Don’t mess this up.” He was quiet again as Abram set the mug aside and once again hugged his knees to his chest. “You want to know why I’m alone? Because I can’t find someone who can deal with the shite I do day in and day out, it’s not so much a choice. That you’ve found someone who can? Don’t let that go, and certainly not for a married bastard who sees you as nothing more than a pretty toy.”

Abram shuddered as he ran his left hand through his hair. “You don’t even like Andrew.”

“I think you could do better,” Stuart admitted. “I think you could find someone who’s not fucked up, but maybe that’s what you need. And you do need someone, Ram. Some of us can get through this world on our own, but I don’t think you’re one of those people.”

“I’m not weak,” Abram ground out, stung by that comment.

“No, you’re not,” Stuart agreed in a quiet voice. “You’ve got too much of your mother in you to ever be that. But you’ve also got heart, kiddo. It’s what makes you so bloody loyal, what makes people look up to you.”

Abram didn’t know what to say to that as he folded in on himself even more, as he thought about his uncle’s words. As he tried to reconcile them to everything he felt inside, to the guilt and pain and gnawing ache, to the want and fear and traitorous sense of hope.

“Your mother would have wanted you to be happy,” Stuart said after a long stretch of silence, save for the sound of him smoking and the crackling of fire in the living room.

That prompted a bitter laugh from Abram. “She would probably tell me to knife Andrew in the throat rather than let him get close to me,” he informed his uncle. “Her belief was that it was best to be alone.”

“Yeah, well, I think it’s safe to say that your mother is the _last_ person to trust for any relationship advice, god rest her soul,” Stuart said, his tone a bit sour. “Even if I’d love dearly to see her take on Minyard.”

Now _that_ was a thought certain to give Abram nightmares – even though his friend was almost twice as broad as his mother, somehow he didn’t think Mary Hatford would go down without a hell of a fight. Considering that he’d seen her take down more than a few of his father’s men… Abram thought it might come to a rather bloody and nasty draw. “And here I was beginning to think that you liked him.”

“All I’m going to say is if you’ve don’t got your heart set on the midget arsehole, why not give Camilo a chance, yeah? He did drop everything to help us out last week.”

Abram’s breath got caught in his throat over that ‘heart’ comment. “I… that is… _no_ ,” he told his uncle. “For the last time, _no_.”

“Then fine, stick with the uppity Yank and tell Jain to fuck off,” Stuart muttered. When Abram was quiet for a dozen or so frantic heartbeats, Stuart sighed. “Don’t worry about us, kiddo, and don’t fuck up what’s probably the best thing to happen to you in years, even if he’s a prick.” When Abram managed a faint laugh at that, Stuart’s voice warmed up. “And don’t hesitate to call me again, though fuck, I hope next time it’s to tell me you’re kicking Minyard to the curb.”

“No promises,” Abram told him. “Uncle Stuart? Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” Stuart told him. “Just remember what I said about Jain.”

“Okay.” Abram hung up then sat huddled on the couch for a few minutes, before he forced himself to unfurl and pour himself some more tea. The beverage helped to warm him up almost as much as talking to Stuart had done, and when he felt calm enough, he texted Bren about dinner.

Until the enforcer arrived with the food, he sat on the love seat and thought about what Stuart had said, thought about Jain and things with Andrew. Thought about if it would even be possible to let the Chinese man touch him after all of the ‘yeses’ he’d exchanged with Andrew, after he knew what it felt to truly consent to something, to _feel_ something.

For a moment he felt sick, felt as if he’d throw up the tea he’d drank, but he forced down the nausea.

He thought of Andrew, of taking back their relationship to what it had been before he’d confessed, to being… to being just ‘friends’. If it was something that Andrew decided because it was better for him, was something he came to for whatever personal reason, Abram could accept it. But for it to happen because of him? Because of his own actions?

Abram was beginning to understand why his mother had slapped him and pulled his hair when he’d stared a little too long at those girls; emotional attachments did leave him confused and open to pain, to manipulation. He knew the decision she would make, knew there would be no hesitation for her.

Then again, his mother had never been the best at making decisions when it came to relationships, as Uncle Stuart had reminded him.

Bren showed up later in the evening with the food and a stern expression. “Don’t go anywhere without calling me, do you understand? Not until that bastard’s gone back home or wherever.”

“Ah, what about Andrew?” Abram asked, worried that his friend had done something while upstairs, had called Jamie to ask for a new assignment despite his words earlier.

“Yes, what about Andrew?”

Abram peered around Bren to find his friend standing in the living room, hair mussed and dressed in black plaid pajama bottoms, armbands and a black t-shirt, a scowl on his face but not appearing drunk at the moment. “Uhm, there’s food.”

Andrew ignored that to continue scowling at Bren. “Why are we calling you?”

“Food’s here,” Bren said with a nervous grin while surreptitiously slipping behind the island until the large piece of furniture was between him and an obviously disgruntled Andrew. “Look, it comes from higher up, so don’t go all stabby on me. Jamie and Stuart want the two of you watched while Jain and his goons are in town, just in case.”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed at that and he glanced at Abram, before he gave a slight shrug. Appearing a bit stunned at the reaction, Bren continued to watch him for a few seconds as if uncertain at being let ‘off’ so easily, then made a quick escape.

Meanwhile, Abram decided that he’d been good all day long and it was finally time to break out the wine to go along with his lasagna, while Andrew peeked at the take-away containers. Bren had brought him garlic bread and fettucine alfredo, which Andrew stared at for a few seconds before going to get some silverware. Along the way, he stole Abram’s wine while Abram went to fetch some napkins.

They ate in silence for a couple of minutes, until Andrew finished his glass of wine. “Why are Jamie and Stuart freaking out?”

Abram shrugged while he finished his mouthful of pasta. “Being overbearing as usual?”

Andrew’s eyes narrowed as he dragged the wine bottle over so he could refill his glass. “It’s more than usual. What did you do to get us _both_ saddled with a babysitter?” When Abram held up his glass to be refilled, too, Andrew deliberately set the bottle down next to his plate, the prat.

“All I did was talk to Stuart,” Abram said while giving his friend a rude gesture for stealing the wine.

“Wonderful. Where am I being reassigned to, _hon_?” There was just a _tiny_ bit of sarcasm in the words.

“Nowhere as of yet, but I’m reconsidering that now, _babe_.” Abram set his fork down then propped his chin on his right hand, his appetite suddenly gone. “It’s probably… it’s probably in case Jain has any problem with me turning him down,” he admitted, the words coming out in a rush.

When Andrew just sat there, saying and doing nothing, Abram sighed. “I’d really like some wine now,” he said as he lifted his head. When Andrew still didn’t do anything, he sighed again and got up to fetch a new bottle.

He had just reached the counter where the wine rack sat when he felt a light touch on his left shoulder; when he turned around, Andrew was almost in his space, eyes blazing with some intense emotions and hands hovering near Abram’s face.

“Yes or no?” The question was asked in such a haggard voice, one thick with rare emotion from Andrew.

“Yes,” Abram said, and a moment later he was pushed back against the counter from the force of Andrew’s passionate kiss, fingers in his hair and that broad, muscular body pressed against his own.

A deep, needy moan slipped free as he arched his back so as to feel Andrew against him even more, to force even more contact since he hadn’t been told where he could touch his friend with his hands just yet. Andrew’s leg slid between his thighs and he moaned again as he slouched down a little more, as he rode the muscular thigh then rocked forward, already growing hard with a need that stunned him. Judging from the hardness that ground into him, he wasn’t alone.

“Tu-touch yu-you?” he stuttered out when he broke off the kiss, lips already stinging from the intensity of it.

“Hips and above,” Andrew said without any hesitation, then moaned himself as Abram’s mouth settled on his neck. “ _Fuck_.”

For a moment Abram imagined that, imagined Andrew fucking him. Imagined the feel of his friend on top of him, those hands on his hips and mouth on him as he thrust inside Abram. Imagined _wanting_ it. Imagined it feeling _good_ , like everything else Andrew did to him.

He shivered just then, the tremble running through his entire body, and pressed his face against the side of Andrew’s neck. The hand stroking along his back stilled for a moment, then the one in his hair urged him to look up.

“It’s fine,” Abram assured Andrew with a slight smile. “Just… surprised by something. Something good.”

It didn’t appear as if Andrew believed him for a moment, then he scoffed as he pulled Abram away from the counter. “Speak up if it stops being good.”

“I know,” Abram said. “But it is – it’s good.” He allowed Andrew to lead him out of the kitchen, his hands busy beneath his friend’s t-shirt, and was surprised when Andrew seemed to hesitate at the entrance of the living room.

They’d always fooled around in the kitchen or the living room, unless they were in a hotel. Abram didn’t mind that, but…. “Uhm, we can go to my bedroom,” he offered, a bit of heat creeping into his face.

That earned him another quiet stare, and he thought he might have messed up when Andrew let go of him. “All right.” Then Andrew latched on to his left elbow and began to lead him up the stairs.

Okay, that was a positive sign, wasn’t it? Abram struggled to not trip on the stairs, to keep up with his friend even though his legs were longer. It didn’t take them long until they were in his room, and he was grateful that he hadn’t left anything lying on the floor and had thrown the duvet back in place before leaving earlier in the day.

Andrew paused for a moment, as if giving Abram a chance to change his mind, then when Abram smiled and gave him a slight push toward the bed, he was once more kissing Abram with a ferociousness that almost left him breathless. There was a slight tug on the hem of Abram’s cotton pants, which he answered by pushing them and his underwear down himself rather than break off the kiss, and soon enough they both were fumbling to remove their clothes before tumbling onto the bed naked.

There was another moment’s hesitation where Andrew hovered over Abram before settling between his thighs, waiting to make sure it was all right before he leaned in for a brief kiss that led to him trailing his mouth along Abram’s chin then down his neck. Abram fought not to squirm at the feel of Andrew’s mouth and hands on him, at the pleasure building in him from the caresses and kisses, the gentle nips and teasing sucks that he knew would leave marks.

If at any moment there was a hint of fear at being in bed with someone on top of him, at feeling someone’s weight pressing down on him, all he had to do was concentrate on the feel of his armbands as he slid his hands along Andrew’s strong back, the fact that his wrists were unbound as he raised them so he could comb his fingers through Andrew’s short hair, and all the pleasure churning inside of him as Andrew’s mouth skimmed over his navel, as Andrew’s hands stroked the inside of his thighs.

Then Andrew’s tongue ran over the length of his cock and there were no bad memories to chase away, nothing but Andrew and the ecstasy and struggling to remain still while _oh hell_ …. Abram whimpered out Andrew’s name while one hand cupped his ass and the other stroked the base of his cock, so much wonderful friction and moist heat and he felt himself begin to tremble as Andrew sucked on him hard, did his best to stutter out a warning as the pleasure seared through him. He choked on Andrew’s name as he came, fingers cupping the back of his friend’s head as he fought not to clench them tight, and closed his eyes as the euphoria burned along his nerves.

For a moment, he thought that the rough breathing was from him, and then he realized that Andrew was hunched over him, cock still hard and appearing a bit flustered. Abram looked up at Andrew and felt his sweaty face heat up once more. “Ah… you?” he asked as he fumbled to sit up.

“I’m….” Andrew stopped when Abram draped his arms over his shoulders, the embrace loose so as not to keep him there if he wanted to pull away, but something so he knew he wasn’t alone. “Close your eyes.”

“Okay.” Figuring that Andrew would just masturbate near him again, Abram was surprised when his right arm was gently grasped and his hand lowered.

“Is this all right?”

“ _Yes_ ,” Abram breathed out, the fingers of his left hand threading through Andrew’s sweaty hair even as his right hand joined Andrew’s in stroking around his friend’s cock. When Andrew’s lips brushed against his, he parted them open for a deep kiss, moaning softly when he felt fingers tangle in the hair at the back of his head.

Andrew broke off the kiss so he could nuzzle along Abram’s jaw, his breathing ragged as they continued to stroke him off, until he tensed against Abram as warmth pulsed over Abram’s fingers. Then he slowly began to relax while his breathing evened out, as he rested his head against Abram’s while Abram rubbed along his scalp.

They were like that for about two minutes until Abram felt his friend shift against him. “Wipe your hand on my duvet and I’ll stab you.” He would kill for Andrew, but he refused to let the bastard mess with his bedding when there was a box of tissues a couple of feet away.

“Issues, _babe_ ,” Andrew said as he pulled away and looked about, then reached for the tissues.

“Me and my issues aren’t changing the bedding tonight, _hon_ ,” Abram explained as he grabbed the box of tissues before Andrew could throw them aside or something. Once he was cleaned up, he got off the bed, assuming that Andrew would leave for his bedroom, as always.

Since he was headed for the shower, he didn’t bother with his clothes, just went into the bathroom and stepped into the large shower stall once the water was hot enough. So it was a bit of a surprise when he turned around and found Andrew standing naked outside of the stall. “Fuck!”

“Eloquent,” Andrew remarked. “Yes or no?” He motioned into the shower.

“Ah, yes?” Abram sighed when Andrew didn’t move. “Yes.” He waited until his friend joined him to ask the question. “Why?”

“A shower is a shower,” was all Andrew said, then proceeded to herd Abram away from the hot water so he could hog it all, the bastard. “Why are you telling Jain no?”

Abram was quiet for about a minute while he lathered up. “Because I don’t think I can stand going through it anymore,” he admitted. “Even for my family. Because you were right about a few things with him, and because….” He sighed a little, still uncertain himself about it all. “I don’t… it’s not worth _… this_.” Whatever ‘this’ was. It wasn’t worth him being unable to wake up from a bad nightmare to find Andrew across the room in his chair, wasn’t worth being unable to reach out and touch Andrew when everything got to be too much and have that simple contact settle the worst of Abram’s fears and doubts. Wasn’t worth losing the annoyed bemusement of watching Andrew steal his food or being ordered to make something ridiculous for breakfast, all too aware that his friend was deliberately toying with him just to rile him up. To know that Andrew preferred Abram angry at him to sad or upset or withdrawn.

Even if Andrew stayed, it wouldn’t be the same if all he was staying for was because of a promise. Abram didn’t want him to stay just because of a promise.

Andrew continued to wash off and once he was done, he stepped toward Abram and slowly reached out to cup the left side of Abram’s face. When Abram nodded, he leaned in for a surprisingly gentle kiss, one that lasted for a few seconds before he pulled away. “French toast tomorrow,” was all he said before stepping out of the shower.

Abram smiled while he finished his own shower – at least until he went to get out and realized that Andrew had taken the last clean towel with him, the bloody prat.

*******

Waiting for Jain to arrive at one of the private dining rooms at the Mandarin Oriental hotel, Andrew tugged on the sleeves of his black suit coat one more time to check that he had plenty of room to go for his knives; across the room, Stuart gave him a warning look but didn’t say anything. Probably because the air inside the richly furnished room was tense enough as it was, with Davis and Liz lounging stiffly against the one leather-paneled wall and Jamie doing her best to distract a pale-faced Abram.

Abram was dressed in a dark grey suit that highlighted his pallor, which wasn’t good at the moment, emphasized his now auburn hair, which definitely wasn’t good, and set off his lean, elegant form to perfection, which probably would prove to be disastrous, considering the circumstances. Unfortunately, all of his suits were tailored the same way, something Andrew would have to talk to Liliya about in the near future. Surely she could find something that made him look short and gawky for times like these. ‘Gorgeous’ wasn’t the look one wanted to go for when dumping a powerful suitor – at least not under these circumstances.

Andrew was still having some difficulty accepting the fact that Abram _was_ dumping Jain; he knew that he’d told his idiot all those weeks ago that it was a condition for them to be… whatever they were, but he had honestly expected to be the ‘dumpee’ once push came to shove. Abram was the fool martyr, after all, always putting his family before himself, always so willing to throw himself into the lion pit if he thought it would spare others. By all rights Andrew should walk away when that happened, but he couldn’t find it in himself to completely leave Abram, to break off their promise despite how damn painful it would be to remain around him and watch him go off to Jain’s bed every time the Chinese man came for a visit. To watch Abram let himself be degraded and used for the sake of the Hatfords.

So of course he hadn’t believed it when Abram said that he’d chosen Andrew, and part of him was waiting for Abram to fold, to buckle under the pressure and give in at the last minute. The universe didn’t like Andrew, so it would be just the thing to make him want something so much, to make him believe that he almost had it and then snatch it away right before his eyes.

Right when he was about to give in to the temptation to pour himself a glass of whiskey from the bar across the small room, Bren opened the door to admit Jain and four bodyguards, two of them different from the last time Andrew had seen the man. Jain appeared a little older than he’d been last fall, had a bit more grey in his hair and maybe a few more pounds as well, but wore an expensive and impeccable black suit and of course the same wedding ring.

“Good evening, everyone. I hope you haven’t waited long for me,” he said in accented English, a slight smile on his face as he glanced around the room. As he moved to go stand beside his idiot, Andrew noticed how the man’s eyes lingered on Abram for a few seconds, especially Abram’s hair.

“No, we haven’t been here long,” Jamie lied as she came over to bow slightly to Jain. “I hope you’ve been well. How was the flight?”

The two of them exchanged pleasantries while Andrew came up to Abram’s right side, Stuart coming over to Abram’s left, and reached out to brush his hand along the back of Abram’s. That earned him a flash of a nervous smile before Abram focused his attention back on Jain.

Once the small talk was finished, Jamie motioned for everyone to sit down at the table, except for Liz, who allowed two servers who had been vetted by Davis to come in and serve everyone drinks and set out appetizers. Abram noticed how Jain kept glancing over at Abram, noticed the tension in his idiot and moved with deliberate intent to grasp the back of Abram’s neck.

Abram let out a slight sigh and began to relax beneath the touch, and none of the Hatfords or their people so much as blinked at the gesture, while the slightest of frowns creased Jain’s broad face. Abram didn’t shrug off Andrew’s hand, if anything he leaned toward Andrew in his chair.

As soon as the servers were gone, Jamie and Jain moved on to the real topics, the reason why Jain had come to ‘visit’. Ichiro had struck at a money laundering operation that one of Xue’s associates ran in the United States, causing a loss of revenue and a question about internal security. Jamie shared what they’d recently uncovered about the weaknesses of the Moriyamas’ organization, along with Wesninski, and agreed to work with Xue to uncover any possible traitors as well as strike back at Ichiro. It was all so very ‘all for one and one for all’, blah blah blah, during which Andrew munched on appetizers and nursed a couple of whiskeys, and Abram slowly relaxed little by little while contributing the occasional comment.

That taken care of, they moved on to the topic of recent financials, which seemed more upbeat. Jain reported that Xue was pleased with the latest property purchases and that all the money laundering set up outside of the U.S. were working well. There would be more requests for cloaked purchases and foreign accounts set up in the near future, as his colleagues sought to diversify their funds abroad.

Altogether, it was a rather boring couple of hours, despite some planning on how to hurt the Moriyamas. Andrew would have tuned out most of it except that he was too focused on Jain, on watching the man’s attention drift back to Abram every so often, on catching those flashes of desire. Someone was looking forward to the meeting ending, he was willing to bet.

As soon as Jamie and Jain had decided that was enough business talk for the night, everyone rose from the table, grateful for the chance to get up and walk around a little, to refill their drinks. Liz was quick to hand Jamie a gin gimlet, while Andrew remained next to Abram’s side as Jain came over with a slight smile on his face.

“Abram, I hear that you have been a bit… unwell, lately, due to unfortunate circumstances. I hope you’re feeling better now, and that you’re able to travel again soon.” His smile took on a friendly aspect as he looked Abram up and down.

“I’m feeling a bit better, thank you,” Abram told him. “As for the rest… we shall see. At the least, I’d like to get back to Germany soon.”

“We need you back in China,” Jain insisted. “We accomplished so much together when you were there last time.”

Andrew could tell that his idiot had become tense again, just from the way that Abram had shifted his weight about on his feet. “That’s up to Uncle Will and Jamie.”

“Yes, such an… obedient child you are,” Jain said with a hint of innuendo. Andrew wanted to go for one of his knives right then, but barely kept himself in check when one of the large bodyguards behind Jain moved a little to allow Stuart to come over. “You’re very lucky, Stuart, to have such an obedient and loyal nephew.”

“Ram’s a great kid,” Stuart said, his expression on the tight side as if he was struggling to control himself as well. “Does too much for the family, we’re always yelling at him to take it easy.”

Subtle much?

Jain’s eyes narrowed for a moment, and then he smiled once more at Abram. “Yes, he does work very hard. I must admit, I was hoping he wouldn’t mind doing some work right now.” He cocked his head to the side while he smoothed his right hand down the front of his suit coat. “There are a few things I’d like to discuss with you, if you don’t mind staying.”

Andrew braced himself for what was to come, for Abram bowing his head and saying ‘yes’.

Things went quiet in the room, save for the sound of Jamie’s and Liz’s footsteps as they came closer to the small group. Then Abram let out a shaky breath. “I would be honored,” he said, while Andrew felt as if something dull had been shoved into his chest, “but it will have to be another time. Perhaps we can arrange something tomorrow?” While he spoke, he looked over at Andrew. “We can be here tomorrow afternoon, correct?”

“ _We_?” Jain asked in Mandarin, the smile now gone from his face.

“ _Yes, ‘we’_ ,” Abram said in the same language. “ _Andrew accompanies me everywhere_.”

“ _I don’t think you understand_ ,” Jain said. “ _I want you tonight, not_ -”

“ _No, **you** don’t understand_,” Andrew said, suddenly finding his breath now that it sunk in what Abram had done, as well the fact that Jain wasn’t taking ‘no’ for an answer. “ _He’s not going with you_.” He reached out to thread his fingers in the hair at the back of Abram’s head. “ _Ever again_.”

“ _What, you mean_ -” Jain’s eyes narrowed as he took in the two of them, at how close Andrew stood next to Abram, at how Abram allowed Andrew to hold on to him like that. “ _The two of you?”_ The last seemed to be directed at Abram.

“ _Yes, the two of us. I will gladly be of assistance in anything work related_ ,” Abram told him. “ _But that is all, from here on out_ ,” he said while meeting Jain’s eyes.

Jain appeared as if he didn’t believe what he was hearing, but before he could say something else, Stuart cut in. “Everything all right here?”

“I was just offering times when I could assist Jain with some work related things,” Abram said without glancing away from Jain.

“Well, don’t push yourself, you just got back on your feet.” Stuart gave Andrew a pointed look. “He’s not been working too hard, yeah?  I better not come over to find him cooking you a bunch of shite.”

“He’s finally learning some real life skills,” Andrew said. “We’re trying to see if he can go a week without nearly burning the house down.” He gave a slight tug to Abram’s hair. “Right, _babe_?” Behind Jain, Jamie grinned for some reason.

“No comment,” Abram muttered, his expression appearing rather put out at the moment.

Meanwhile, Jain had stopped frowning at Abram to regard Andrew with an assessing gaze for several seconds. “I see. I believe tomorrow will be fine, then. I look forward to talking to you both,” he said before giving them a very short bow of his head, then turning around to speak to Jamie before leaving.

Abram’s shoulders slumped at the man’s departure, which made Andrew rub his scalp for a couple of seconds before pulling his hand away. “Bloody hell,” Abram murmured, then he wiped at his face as he repeated the words.

“That… went well, yeah?” Stuart asked.

Davis came over to join them with several drinks held precariously in his hands, of which Andrew and Stuart were quick to snatch. “I thought it went well. No shouts of ‘off with his head!’ at the least.”

“Funny,” Stuart said, his tone rather sour and his expression even more so.

Jamie joined them while they finished their drinks and shook her head. “I’m not getting any bad vibes off of him, other than a bit of frustration.” She looked over at Abram, who had gone quiet, and Andrew. “Stay together and be careful, and have Bren drive you around while he’s in town,” she ordered. “I don’t _think_ he’s going to do anything stupid, but there’s no reason to give him an opportunity if he decides to prove me wrong.”

“So much for the new car,” Abram said, as if it really bothered him. Jamie tousled his hair for that, and after he put up with quick hugs from her and Stuart, Andrew dragged him out of the room and allowed Bren to lead them out of the hotel.

Once they were in the back of the Jaguar sedan, Abram let out a low moan while he scrubbed his fingers through his hair. “I hope he leaves soon.”

He wasn’t the only one, Andrew thought. “Did you expect him to react like that?”

Abram gnawed on his bottom lip for a few seconds. “Honestly? I don’t know how I thought he’d react. It’s not like he seems to care that much about me – he seems to like me a little, but he never proclaimed to love me or anything. It’s like you said the one time, I think to him we’re just fuck-buddies, if anything. But he knew he could have me whenever he wanted me.”

Jain knew that Abram was ‘his’, so there was probably some stung pride there, more than anything. Stung pride over losing a possession, over having that possession say ‘no’ and seeing it ‘belong’ to someone else, even though Abram belonged to no one. Jain probably didn’t understand that concept.

Tomorrow probably was going to be an interesting day, but all that mattered at the moment was that Abram had broken his ties to the man, had told him ‘no’ and meant it. There was always the possibility that Jain might try to use threats against Abram, but now that Abram had said ‘no’? Andrew didn’t think that the rest of the Hatfords would allow the idiot to take it back. _Andrew_ wouldn’t allow Abram to take it back, not if someone was trying to force Abram to do something against his will.

He looked up to find Abram staring at him, and clicked his tongue. “Stop staring at me.”

“No,” Abram said with a slight smile. “Make me.”

That sounded like a challenge, and one Andrew was more than willing to accept. Moving slowly, he reached for Abram’s hair once again and used it to pull his idiot toward him. Right before he could ask, Abram said ‘yes’ and then they were kissing, Abram draped half against him while they were sprawled out in the back seat of the car.

After a minute or two, there was a complaint from Bren, which both of them ignored.

“Aw, come on, you’re killing me here. Can’t that wait until you two get home?” Bren pleaded. “I’m right here, you know.” Abram did that low moan thing of his when Andrew rubbed the small of his back. “Bloody hell, wait until Davis hears about this.”

Andrew made a mental note to talk to the enforcer along with Stuart in the near future, then focused on his armful of idiot for the time being.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> I actually think this fic is about 3/4 done, believe it or not. I'm about 2/3 done with the next chapter (really trying to get about two ahead so I can do something for a Sunday post), but yeah, maybe it'll be wrapped up by chapter 20? We shall see... considering how many friggen words it's at right now, it's still OMFG long.
> 
> Hmm, for some reason I thought there was something else to post.... 
> 
> We'll see if I can get something else posted, I keep hoping to have all this time to write and then something happens. Bah.
> 
> If I don't get anything up before next Wednesday - Happy Holidays!
> 
> As always, the comments and kudos are appreciated.  
> *******


	16. Rising, Rising

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> All right, here's another chapter that's a bit development for the boys (even as it works its way in the whole plot thing, whatever that is). BUT, fair warning, the next two... ohh yeaaah. Next two might leave you not so happy with me (I've even got 17 done already, about to start on 18). This story is really wrapping up.
> 
> And don't worry, it's basically a HEA, you just gotta get through everything until the end (not to sound too ominous there). More or less....
> 
> And once again, much thanks to Huntswodh for making this more readable! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> *******

*******

Andrew examined Abram as he came downstairs dressed in another elegant, fitted suit. “You don’t have anything else to wear, do you? Something… different?” Something of Stuart’s, maybe. Better yet, something of _Bren’s_.

Abram stared at him in confusion. “What do you mean?” He smoothed his hand down the front of the grey suit while he looked over his shoulder as if checking to see if something was wrong. “Liliya sends these to me.”

Yes, Andrew was going to talk to her about that very soon – another name on a growing list. For a moment he almost told his idiot to go put on one of his overlarge sweaters, but that wouldn’t be any better, would it? Besides, Abram only wore them around the house or when he went out with Andrew on personal business, nothing that was tied to anything ‘Hatford’ related. Nothing professional, and often when Abram was having one of his ‘dark’ days.

“Never mind. Stay close to me and don’t let him get you alone, all right?” Andrew instructed as he slipped on his gun’s holster, which made Abram raise an eyebrow. He wasn’t certain how far Jain was going to take things today, but he wanted to be prepared, considering that the man had four very large and armed bodyguards.

“Yes, _hon_ ,” Abram said as he reached for his trench coat. “Feeling a bit paranoid?”

Andrew just gave his idiot a cool look for the comment; Abram was the one who had gotten them into this mess by handing himself over to Jain on a silver platter, by never saying ‘no’ to the man – at least before yesterday. Now they were going to find out if Jain would accept that ‘no’.

All Andrew knew about the Chinese man was that he was powerful, he was closeted and that he wanted Abram. That he had the grace to not push the issue last night, but he wanted to ‘talk’ today. Very well, then they would ‘talk’, but the answer would be the same – Abram wasn’t the man’s lover or fuckbuddy or whatever Jain had thought him to be any longer.

As soon as Bren texted them to let them know he was outside, they went to get in the same Jaguar from the night before. The enforcer gave them a lingering look before he pulled back onto the street. “No snogging this time, right? We’re going to be all proper and whatnot and get this done, and I don’t have to have those disturbing images in my head anymore.”

“Uhm, if we’re talking about disturbing images,” Abram offered up with a slight flush to his face while Andrew scowled at the man, “what about you showing me what you wanted to get Asya for your anniversary the one year?”

“That’s different,” Bren scoffed. “I’ve known you how many years now, right? You showing up all scrawny as fuck and as short as that bad influence you’re dating.”

“It’s going to be such a shame, telling Stuart that one of Jain’s men took you out,” Andrew said in a monotone voice.

“Oh stuff it, I was only joking. Mostly,” Bren grumbled. “Just can’t get over what you’ve done to poor Abram.”

“You do realize that your ‘poor Abram’ kills people,” Andrew asked as he pulled out his pack of cigarettes.

“Of course,” Bren scoffed. “He just never snogged them in the back of my car until he met _you_.”

“Uhm, I think I’ll walk the rest of the way, thank you,” Abram said as he buried his face in his hands. “Bloody hell.”

“It’s all right,” Bren told him with a kind smile while looking up in the rear view mirror. “I know it’s not your fault, it’s the American hooligan sitting next to you. You’ve been led astray.”

Abram made a choking sound just then, while the car swerved when Andrew pulled free a knife and Bren took to loudly stating that he’d been joking, just _joking_! What, didn’t people have a sense of humor anymore?

The rest of the drive passed by in silence, which Andrew much appreciated, with Abram uncovering his face to answer a text on his phone which turned out to be from Stuart warning him to be careful. That made Abram light one of his cigarettes as well, and if he shifted about to lean a little against Andrew, Andrew didn’t complain. All he did was send a warning glare Bren’s way when he noticed the enforcer once again glancing up in the rear view mirror and smiling.

They finally reached the Mandarin Oriental hotel, where Bren handed over the Jaguar to the valet parking then followed them inside to where they were to meet Jain in another private room for their meeting, which Andrew supposed was better than the man’s hotel room. There was no fucking way they were meeting the man in his suite.

Jain was waiting for them in the room, with his bodyguards stationed about either standing or sitting. Andrew noted their positions while Bren stood by the door, not too far from their backs.

“ _Abram, it’s good to see you again_ ,” Jain said in Mandarin, his attention focused on Andrew’s idiot enough to be considered rude.

“ _And you, Jain_.” Abram gave him a polite bow of the head and made sure to keep out of reach the entire time. “ _You’re looking well_.”

“ _I’ve been traveling too much_ ,” Jain protested. “ _But you…_.” His eyes lingered over Abram, over the now auburn hair. “ _The changes are… refreshing_.”

“ _Thank you_.” There was a hint of chill to the words as Abram sat down, and Andrew made sure to sit right next to him. “ _So what would you like to discuss? The real estate forecast for the rest of the year? Market trending? There’s still some volatility due to_ -”

“ _I see the reports you and your family put together, they’re very good_ ,” Jain said as he slashed his right hand through the air to cut off Abram. “ _Tell me, do you honestly believe that you’re hurting the Moriyamas with all this… this drama that’s going on_?”

Abram paused for a moment as if gathering his thoughts. “ _Yes. We’ve removed one of my father’s top people, and we’ve found some valuable information to use against him and Ichiro Moriyama. I don’t think he would have sent Lola Malcolm here in the first place unless he needed to prove himself soon, because that was a very high risk_.”

“ _A gamble he lost_ ,” Andrew said, unwilling to sit out the conversation any longer – for Jain to ignore him any longer.

The Chinese man finally looked at him, his expression shuttered as if unwilling to give anything away, and then he once more made a slashing motion. “ _Desperate creatures are often the most vicious_.”

“ _It’ll be my family who takes the brunt of it, as always_ ,” Abram pointed out, his voice hoarse.

“ _Then I would think that you would want every possible ally at your back_ ,” Jain alluded as he looked Abram up and down.

When Abram stiffened, Andrew leaned forward. “ _He has all he needs at his back_ ,” he told the asshole, his tone frigid and expression blank. Behind him, he heard Bren shift about, the rustle of leather and carpet, and noticed that Jain’s bodyguards appeared tense.

Jain gave a slight shake of his head as he refocused his attention on Andrew, and after a few seconds shook his head again. “ _It’s never a bad thing, having more allies_ ,” was all he said.

“ _I have what I need_ ,” Abram told him as he reached over to brush his left hand along Andrew’s arm for a moment.

The asshole didn’t appear pleased with that, but he shifted the conversation back to ‘proper’ topics, which meant quizzing Abram over possible targets which Ichiro might strike against and what he thought might be new investment opportunities since the Chinese government was making it more difficult for certain people to buy too many properties or to move too much money out of the country – at least by obvious means. It wasn’t often when Andrew got to see the ‘numbers’ side of his idiot, the one who paid attention to things like finance markets and interest rates and all the other stuf Sabine and Zhou and various colleagues sent him to help keep the family’s income in the black.

After about an hour, Jain appeared pleased enough and gave a deep nod. “Thank you,” he said in English. “As always, you’ve been most helpful.”

Abram seemed to take that as a sign that their meeting was over. “As always, you can reach out to me for more information.” He hesitated a moment, and then stood up. “If there is anything else?”

“Yes, I’d like to talk to Minyard for a few minutes,” Jain said, a slight smile on his face. In the process of pulling on their coats, Andrew and Abram paused to look at each other.

“Go,” Andrew told Abram, then glanced over at Bren, who nodded at him. “I’m sure I’ll only be a few minutes.” When Abram continued to stand there, he spoke in German. “ _Go, I’ll be fine_.”

Abram hesitated another moment, then shrugged. “ _You better be, or **you’ll** be buying dinner_ ,” he said in the same language, a hint of a smile on his face but his eyes shadowed with doubt. When he got close to the door, Bren hovered near him and nodded to Andrew again in a silent confirmation that he would guard Abram in case it was a trap to separate them.

That handled for the moment, Andrew sat back down and stared at Jain, his face once more expressionless. Jain stared back, and after almost a minute of silence, huffed. “Andrew Minyard, the man who has been defying the Moriyamas for years. Somehow, I am not surprised that you found your way to the Hatfords. What I am surprised about is you and Abram,” he said as he waved his left hand at one of his guards – the man hurried to pour what turned out to be two whiskeys, one of which was handed to Andrew.

“You seem to have done some research,” Andrew commented before he sipped the whiskey – until after Jain had done so, and found it to be a higher shelf brand, of course.

“A little.” Jain cocked his head to the side for a moment. “At first because of your previous involvement with the Moriyamas, and then….” He paused to once more treat Andrew to a heavy regard. “I always assumed that Abram would one day find a lover, or more appropriately, that one would find him. He’s a very attractive man, and his… his quirks only make him that much more attractive, yes?” Jain’s lips twitched when Andrew fought not to fling the glass at the asshole, followed by some of his knives. “I just didn’t assume it would be so soon, and by someone like you.”

“And what’s ‘someone like me’?” Andrew asked as he struggled to rein in the roiling rage inside of him, to push back the thoughts that this man had touched Abram, had all but coerced Abram into sex. It wasn’t so much the other men in the room and their guns, it was that it would hurt the Hatfords, would hurt _Abram_ if he did such a thing.

“A violent, nameless thug,” Jain said without any hesitation. “Mentally disturbed muscle. I believe his family has kept him too isolated these last few years, and you’re the result of it.”

Andrew finished the whiskey and set it on the edge of the table in front of him, where it then fell onto the thick carpet. “Seems to me that his tastes are improving, then,” he said, and felt an inward smirk when Jain’s dark brown eyes narrowed in displeasure. “Whatever his tastes or reasons, he has found someone, and it’s not you. And I’m thinking you know you can’t press things here, that you can’t risk pissing off his family because Xue needs them just as much as they need Xue, what with all the money they make him, all of their contacts here in Europe. There’s also the little matter of that ring on your finger, yes?” He gestured to Jain’s left hand, which made the asshole curl it against his chest. “Too much of a fuss and your little secret might get back to the wrong people, hmm?”

Jain stared at him with something akin to loathing for several seconds before he finished his own drink then held the glass out for it to be refilled. “What I said earlier still stands – Abram and his family are playing a dangerous game, and can use all of the allies they can find. When the time comes, who will be of more value to him, a nameless thug or someone with my connections?”

It was as Andrew thought – Jain wasn’t ready to let go, but at least he knew that he couldn’t push against the Hatfords, not without it costing him too much. “That’s for Abram to decide,” he said as he stood up again. “And right now? It’s not you, so leave him the fuck alone.”

“Such confidence,” Jain said as he accepted his refilled glass. “Good luck with that.” He gave Andrew a mocking bow of the head then ignored him to sip his whiskey, while another bodyguard came over to motion toward the door in a clear sign that Andrew was expected to leave.

Pleased to do so, Andrew walked out of the room, back prickling at the thought of leaving it exposed to the asshole. He got out into the hallway and went down to the lobby, where he found an anxious Abram and stone-faced Bren waiting for him; Abram started toward him but stopped within arm’s reach. “How was… all you all right?” Abram’s voice sounded ragged, his eyes shadowed with worry.

“It’s still your treat for dinner,” he told his idiot while reaching out to tuck aside a reddish lock that had fallen onto Abram’s cheek. The smile he received in return shouldn’t have made him feel so warm inside, dammit, made him want to pull Abram closer to kiss him, so he pushed him away instead, toward the door.

“Maybe you should sit up next to me, Abram,” Bren said as they went outside, to where Bren could hand over the ticket for the Jaguar to the waiting valet. “It’s nice and comfy up front.”

“No,” Abram told him as he climbed into the back as soon as the car was brought around; when Andrew looked at Bren and then the front seat while tugging on the edges of his left sleeves, Bren made a frantic motion toward the open back door.

“No, no, I’ve decided I’m fine with all the snogging. Go on, snog away,” he said in a rush, while the valet stared at them in astonishment.

Andrew just gave him one more flat look before sliding into the back of the car, while Abram sighed. “Don’t I have a say in this?”

“Just shut up and snog,” Bren said as he put the car into first gear.

“Tell me there are still some meds left,” Abram asked in a plaintive voice while Andrew fingered a knife for a moment, but decided that he wasn’t willing to be stuck driving the sedan home.

Oh sure, _now_ the idiot was willing to take them.

“You’ll find out some morning when you insist on going for a run,” Andrew informed him, and hummed a little at the frustrated growl that comment won him. When he glanced over, he found Abram glaring at him, at least for a few seconds, and then his idiot smiled.

“Rather trusting about what’s in your breakfast then, aren’t you?”

Andrew clicked his tongue at that. “You won’t do anything to harm your precious grout.”

“So certain you are, hmm?”

“You’re an open book, _babe_.” Andrew flicked his fingers at the auburn curls falling around Abram’s face.

“I’ll work harder on that, _hon_. Don’t want you to get bored and all.” Abram leaned in, and after a curt nod from Andrew, brushed their lips together. “What’s a little attempted murder between friends?”

“Fuck me, the two of you,” Bren muttered. “I don’t know if I should be driving to the courthouse or the psych ward.”

“How about the hospital?” Abram asked as he turned around to give the enforcer that creepy smile of his; Bren wisely chose to turn up the radio and keep any further comments to himself.

It was a quiet ride home after that, and Bren appeared more than happy to drop them off and leave for another errand. Once they were inside, Abram started a pot of coffee then shrugged off the coat of his suit. “So what did Jain have to say?”

“Just curious about me,” Andrew said as he removed his coat as well.

“All right.” Abram frowned at that, but when Andrew didn’t say anything else, shrugged and went to see what was in the fridge. “Ah, think I can make some chicken salad for sandwiches, or else we’ll have to put up with Bren again.”

Andrew grunted to show that was fine with him while he checked his phone to find that there were a couple of texts from Nicky and Renee, and one from Liz. “Liz is going to stop by in a bit.”

“Okay.” Abram grabbed a water for himself and when Andrew nodded, tossed one his way. “Do I need to be present for that?”

“It should be about Kevin Day,” Andrew told him – it looked as if Jamie was too busy with Jain so Liz was coming over to give him an update.

“Ah. I’ll get some work done, then.” Abram grabbed his coat and went upstairs with it and his water, probably so he could change into something more comfortable. Andrew did the same, an odd feeling settling in his chest as he thought about Abram trusting him like that to handle Kevin, to not fuck things up. Too many people had viewed Andrew as a mentally disturbed fuck-up for most of his life, as someone who could only be counted on for violence and intimidation – that or Exy. They doped him up and locked him away for the first, unless they had a use for him being a monster – a monster on a leash – and then they threw him away when he refused to play their stupid game.

Not Abram.

He went back downstairs to find Abram picking up his laptop and phone to take it into the office, along with a mug of coffee. “You’re not working for Lloyd, are you?”

“No,” Abram said with a roll of those blue eyes. “But I figured this way you could talk to Liz out here.” He went into the office with Andrew following him. “I’ll leave the bloody door open, if it makes you feel better.”

Andrew watched him log on and pull up the files to verify that they had been sent by Jamie, and left the office to the sounds of Abram calling him a prat – it still didn’t sound like an insult, not when it was said with a bit of warmth along with exasperation.

He had some coffee and worked a bit more on his Russian, and Liz showed up half an hour later, bearing several bags from Liliya. “She said you could probably use the stuff by now.”

Andrew had been a bit rough on his shirts lately, thanks to ‘encouraging’ some ex-Ravens to talk. “Yeah. So what’s going on with Day?”

“Love the small-talk,” Liz said with a wry smile as she unbuttoned her navy trench-coat to reveal the fitted black dress shirt, light blue vest and black jeans beneath it while she followed Andrew into the kitchen and helped herself to the coffee. “So, it’s like we thought, there’s at least two doctors at Meadowlark who are on the Moriyama payroll.”

That didn’t surprise Andrew in the slightest – he hadn’t expected Riko and Tetsuji to allow Kevin to get better, not really. Not when they needed him biddable, when they needed him to keep his mouth shut about everything, especially if what Lola had said about a possible Evermore investigation looming in the near future was true. “So does that mean he’s unreachable?”

Liz snorted at the question. “Oh ye of little faith,” she said with a mocking grin. “No one’s unreachable with enough money and incentive. We’ve managed to get a couple of people in there, they just have to be careful about how they approach him.”

Andrew considered that while he sipped his coffee then nodded. “Probably for the best, Kevin might not trust them if they push too hard.”

“Well, they can’t be too cautious, considering they don’t have all that much time, but no, they’re not going to be walking up to him and going ‘hey, nice to meet you, let’s talk about how your mother died.” Liz rolled her eyes at that.

He didn’t care how they did it, as long as they managed to get Kevin thinking about a few things, got him to start doubting the Moriyamas. “They’re going to be working against his fear of Tetsuji. I never got the impression that he loved the man, but he does respect him, and he definitely fears him.” Tetsuji had never let Kevin in close enough for Kevin to see him as a father figure, only as ‘the Master’. “Riko… it’s more complicated between them. A lot got fucked up when Riko broke his hand, but from what I can tell, he never physically abused Kevin like he did the other Ravens until that day,” he explained, giving information that Jamie’s contacts might need to reach Kevin.

“’Physically’,” Liz said, picking up on the fact that there were other ways to hurt a person. Judging from how flat her voice had gone and the deadness in her eyes, Andrew was willing to bet she knew all about those other types of abuse. It made sense in a way, when he thought about how well she handled Liliya, how she was so respectful and mindful around Abram… and even him. “That Riko, such a peach.”

“Isn’t he?” Andrew refused to allow Riko anywhere near Abram, to allow that sadistic fuck to spread his abuse and insanity any further.

“All right, a little more information to pass on, which is good. Though the more I learn about Day, the more it sounds like he should be checked in for a year, not a month.”

Andrew wasn’t going to argue with that, especially after Kevin had spent the last few years in Riko’s ‘tender’ care; he doubted that Riko had physically abused Kevin that much, not when Kevin was Exy’s media darling, but that just meant that Riko had to be more inventive. Judging from the ex-Ravens Andrew had dealt with the last few weeks? Riko could indeed be inventive.

“What about that email I sent Jason?”

“Hmm.” Liz frowned for a moment as she pulled out her phone to check something. “Oh, yes, now I remember. He’s still looking into it, which means that it’s really something. Someone went through a lot of effort to hide their identity behind it, so you’re right in thinking it’s not your brother.”

Not what Andrew wanted just then, a damn mystery and someone ‘clever’ trying to use Aaron against him. “Does he think it’s the Moriyamas or Wesninski?” The last thing he needed – well, one of the last things – was for either of those assholes getting clever on him.

Liz consulted her phone for a moment before she shook her head. “No, it’s not their usual style, he’s certain of that much, even if he’s not done yet.”

He frowned into his mug and then nodded in appreciation for the update, which made Liz smile. “I’ll be sure to let you know as soon as he figures anything out.”

He expected Liz to leave after that, but she poured herself some more coffee and arched her eyebrows at him. “So, how did the chat with Jain go?”

“It went.” Andrew glanced toward the office, but judged there to be enough distance that Abram couldn’t overhear them unless he was determined to do just that. “He’s not happy, but I don’t think he’s going to force the issue.”

“That’s Jamie’s impression, so far. I got a message from her on the way here and she said he’s leaving hints about how he can help out with the Moriyamas… for the right price.”

That price being Abram. “Let me send the man a video of his ‘price’ trying to cook one day, maybe that’ll make him change his mind. He’s not that special.”

Liz’s lips quirked at that. “Somehow I think… you know what? Not going there,” she said as her expression became solemn. “Some people want what they can’t have.” There was a harsh bite to her words. “What they shouldn’t have.”

What a shame the man was going to have to live with disappointment, Andrew thought to himself as he stared in the direction of the office. “Abram’s not a possession.” He wasn’t something to be owned, to be bartered about.

“No, he isn’t. No one is,” Liz agreed. “The world would be a better place if everyone realized that.” Then she let out a slow breath before she finished off her coffee. “Well, I’ll get back to Jamie. As soon as I’ve an update on Day and that other thing, I’ll let you know,” she told him as she buttoned up her coat.

Andrew saw her out the door and then debated what to do next before he went into the office, where he found Abram frowning at his computer screen. When Andrew went around the desk to see what was on it, he found some document with tiny script that would give him a headache if he stared at it for too long – no horrible video from Lloyd.

“No wonder you’re so fucked up.”

“Adore you too, _hon_ ,” Abram said as he looked away from the screen. ”I’m about to throttle whoever scanned it.”

“There’s a good sociopath.”

“Look who’s talking, _Pot_ ,” Abram drawled with a pleased grin.

Andrew stared down at him from his perch on the desk for a moment, that damn sensation pulsing inside of his chest, before he shook his head. “Liliya sent us some stuff,” he said as he stood up.

“Hmm?” Abram got up as well and followed him into the living room after saving his work on the laptop. “I know you needed some shirts, but there’s something for me?”

“Supposedly.” Andrew started to rummage through the bags, and figured that anything that wasn’t black wasn’t his; that left plenty of sweaters and dress shirts. For some reason, Liliya had sent Abram things that weren’t Burberry and his usual prissy brands, but a couple of McQueen sweaters in the idiot’s preferred grey shades, including one that looked as if it would fit Andrew, which meant that it would hang on Abram’s narrower build. She must have meant it to be one that he could wear when at home, on those days when his issues were wearing down on him.

“I’ll have to thank her later,” Abram said, especially when he found another overlarge sweater which appeared to be cashmere in a pale grey that he smiled at as he held it on his lap.

“So what’s the deal with those,” Andrew asked as he handed over what turned out to be a large long-sleeved t-shirt, probably intended for warmer days. “It’s like you’re bipolar or something, nice suits for work and then the opposite when at home.”

Abram’s expression became a bit more forlorn as he refolded the clothes, and for about a minute it didn’t look as if he would answer. “For all those years on the run, we only owned what we could carry,” he said, his voice quiet with the weight of memories. “I had this duffel bag which I never let out of my sight while I was awake that held it all, my clothes and supplies, a binder with everything I’d need in case- well, everything I needed.” His right hand trembled as he smoothed it over the clothes. “Only had a few outfits, and all of them were second-hand clothes, were bought a couple sizes up because they would have to last a while.” He gave a bitter laugh as he glanced at Andrew. “Not like I grew much, I took after my mom that way, at least.”

He was quiet again for several seconds. “We bought things to blend in, so we wouldn’t stand out. No bright colors, nothing too new. Nothing so anyone could really describe us.” There was another bitter laugh. “Uncle Stuart had a fit when he came to fetch me, said I was wearing rags.” Abram closed his eyes as a small, sad smile curled his lips. “He tried to make me throw everything out right away, but they were… they were all I had of her. Of Alex and Stefan and everyone else I’d been. I wasn’t ready to give them up right away.”

But he had eventually, Andrew was to assume. Maybe when he’d accepted being ‘Abram’, when he’d decided that he was going to devote his life to the Hatfords and lock himself up in that damn apartment and do nothing but study languages and finances and whatever else he thought that the Hatfords needed from him. He’d let go of those ‘rags’, but a part of him still retreated into that mindset about the huge sweaters when he needed some sort of comfort, when he needed to ‘disappear’.

If only the idiot would realize that he’d never really ‘disappear’, that nothing could ever make him blend in. However, Andrew wasn’t going to take that illusion away from him.

“Is that why everything is grey?” he asked. “Because you don’t like wearing bright colors?”

Abram looked up at him once more. “Eh? Oh, no, it’s my favorite color,” he admitted, his smile now shy. “Odd, isn’t it?”

“Consider who you’re talking to,” Andrew said as he held up a black sweater similar to one of Abram’s, which made the smile strengthen.

“Very true.”

They both put their clothes away, and after working a little longer, Abram started on the chicken salad with some input from Andrew, and they had their sandwiches along with some baked french fries. Abram still wasn’t certain about the sriracha sauce with the chicken, but proclaimed that he’d had worse, which led to an interesting discussion about them sharing some of their worst meals during their childhood. Andrew had lived in a wide range of foster homes and been subjected to some horrendous diets in his time, while Abram had traveled over a good bit of Europe and Canada, and sampled a lot of the cheap cuisine to be found in various countries. As much as he hated to admit it, Andrew came to the conclusion that it was a tie, that they both had eaten some truly awful things. Yet Abram just shook his head and smiled about it while he held up his half of a sandwich.

“Still not as bad as jam on a damn grilled cheese sandwich.”

“You say this after telling me that you ate how much offal,” Andrew said with a sneer. “I keep saying this, but it bears repeating. You. Have. _Issues_.”

“You never got over that leberwurst sandwich in Germany, did you?” Abram asked with a knowing grin. “Hmm, tasty. I’ll have to ask Erik to-“

“Finish that sentence and your precious grout will be ruined, _babe_ ,” Andrew warned. Though it did remind him how he still owed Erik and Nicky for that incident. He flipped his idiot off when Abram laughed, then stole the remaining fries from Abram’s plate.

For laughing at his suffering, he made Abram sit through another movie, some comedy where Abram didn’t get half of the jokes, then they went to bed. Andrew could tell that Abram gave him a considering look before going up the stairs, but it was too soon after the whole Jain thing to push beyond the kissing that they’d done the night before.

They’d just finished showering after their morning workout the next day (it was raining too much for Abram to do his rabbiting around town, how sad), when there was a cryptic text from Davis on Andrew’s phone warning him to ‘behave’ about a minute before the alarm was disengaged. Andrew expected Davis and Stuart to enter, although the grim expressions on their faces put him on instant alert, which turned into a cold rage when he saw Lloyd saunter in behind them.

“Get the fuck out,” he ordered the agent while Abram paused in welcoming his uncle.

“Really, Abram, you need to look into a muzzle- oh, well _hello_.” Lloyd beamed at Abram while Stuart glowered at the man and Davis shook his head at Andrew, who was in the process of pulling free a knife. “I am utterly gobsmacked, I am.” He gestured toward Abram’s hair. “It’s perfect, though.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Stuart ground out.

“Remember what Will told you,” Lloyd told the man with a pleased grin. “We have to work _together_.”

Andrew was _not_ happy to hear that. “Give Abram another hard drive and you’ll be working without a hand,” he warned.

“Andrew, let him speak,” Abram murmured as he came over to Andrew’s left side. “I thought we were squared away.” The question seemed aimed more to Stuart than to Lloyd.

“We are,” Stuart said, his expression guilty as he stared at Abram. “This is more along the lines of our usual… agreement.” He glanced at a now smirking Lloyd and then back at his nephew. “Sorry, Ram.”

For Stuart to be apologizing, then the bastard spook had to be here for Abram; Andrew took a step forward. “What the hell does he want? We beating up somebody before they disappear again?”

“Nothing so crass today,” Lloyd said while he eyed Abram up and down. “I need you to come with me for a couple of hours, Abram.” When Andrew opened his mouth to ask where they were going, Lloyd waved him silent. “ _Just_ Abram.” His smile fell away and something dark lurked behind his bland looks while he stared down Andrew. “You’re too recognizable, and this doesn’t require a bunch of muscle tagging along anyway. He’ll be safe with me.”

“He better be safe, or else we’ll see how well you do without your fucking spine,” Stuart muttered while glaring at the agent with enough vitriol to impress Andrew, yet all Lloyd did was roll his eyes.

“I’m not about to waste a valuable resource like him, I promise.” Then he resumed studying a quiet Abram. “Go change into something cheap and tawdry. We’re going to a hotel, and I want people to assume the worst about you.”

“You fuckin’-“ Davis had to grab hold of Stuart’s shoulders to keep him off of the spook, while Andrew took a step forward with the knife in his hand, only to find a gun leveled at him. He paused at once, mind racing to figure out how he could still take out the bastard without being seriously hurt, him or more importantly, Abram behind him.

“You got one free hit, Minyard, don’t mistake that to mean I’m an easy target,” Lloyd said in a voice devoid of emotion, while Abram suddenly slipped between the two of them. “Seriously, Abram, put a damn leash on him, him and your uncle.”

“Put the gun away, you don’t come into my home and threaten my- you don’t come into my home and make threats,” Abram ordered, his voice tight with anger and eyes blazing the emotion. “What the bloody hell do you think they’re going to do when you make such demands?”

Lloyd seemed to consider that as he holstered his weapon. “I’m not going to do anything, we just need to put on a show.” Now he sounded exasperated. “I’m straight.”

“How reassuring,” Abram said, the derision in his tone all but dripping from the words. “I’ll be down in a few minutes, and no one will attempt to kill or maim anyone during that time,” he proclaimed as he looked around. “There better not be a damn spot on the grout when I return.”

There were some confused looks over that comment, but Andrew ignored them as his idiot went upstairs and he went to pour himself some whiskey.

Stuart was quick to join him, and Andrew nearly threw the tumbler at Lloyd when Abram came downstairs a few minutes later in the tightest pair of jeans he’d seen yet on his idiot, slashed at various places to show glimpse of Abram’s lean legs, what looked to be a pair of Doc Martins, and a tight long-sleeved shirt that appeared sheer from a distance but wasn’t because it didn’t show off Abram’s scars, tattoos or his nipples. Still, from the way it clung to his upper body, one had a very good idea what was beneath the thin material, and – _fuck_. There was even a bit of eyeliner around those blue eyes, and it was every bit as intense as Andrew had imagined it.

He glanced over at a grim-faced Stuart, who was pouring himself what had to be a triple shot of whiskey, and then at Davis.

“He went into the clubs a couple of times to help out Marcus and Ella,” the enforcer explained, his voice pitched low. “Except… he didn’t really like it there, and there were a few… problems.”

Andrew could very well imagine what those problems were, with Abram looking like that and hating to be touched by strangers. The rage bubbling back in him, he strode across the kitchen to his idiot, until he came to a stop in front of Abram.

He waited until the awful blank expression on Abram’s face melted into something more open, then slid his fingers into his idiot’s hair. “ _You don’t have to do this_ ,” he argued in Mandarin.

“ _Yes, I do – especially if Will wants it done_ ,” Abram said, and Andrew knew that there was no winning this battle. “ _So don’t do anything to him and just… have… have some sandwiches ready for me when I get back?”_ Abram asked, his tone tentative and eyes wide. “ _Just no damn jam this time_.”

“ _Maybe_ pizza sauce,” Andrew mused, which wrung a quick, strained laugh from Abram, but a laugh none the less. He wasn’t certain who moved first, but then they were kissing, Andrew’s mouth harsh with need on Abram’s, as he struggled with the emotions churning inside of him that screamed at him to protect, to hold close, to not let go when he didn’t know what Abram was walking into without him.

“Ahem, we do have a bit of a time table here. Abram?”

Abram jerked away at the sound of Lloyd’s impatient voice while Andrew struggled with the urge to punch the bastard unconscious. “Yes.” Abram gave Andrew a wistful smile before he hurried over to the one closet to grab a leather jacket, and then to Lloyd, who nodded in approval.

“It’ll do. Now, let’s go,” Lloyd said while ignoring everyone else; Abram waved goodbye as they left the townhouse, and Andrew made certain to note the make of Lloyd’s car as it drove off with his idiot before locking down the place again.

“Why did Will agree to this?” he demanded once he was back in the kitchen.

“Because we still need to be able to clear customs,” Stuart explained, his voice a little slurry. “We need it for us and some of our customers, and we need new visas, passports, shite like that. Need various favors, background checks cleared, an’ that means we don’ piss off Lloyd and his ilk, ya get it?”

Not really, not when it meant Abram leaving like that with Lloyd even if the spook had said he wouldn’t ‘do’ anything, not after the last couple of favors, but Abram had asked him not to fight it. Andrew was getting very tired of Abram asking him to stand down when it came to things like that and would have to have a talk with him soon.

Speaking of talks…. “I’ll reserve judgment on it until Abram gets back,” Andrew said as he poured himself just a little more whiskey, then went over to the fridge to make sure that they had all the ingredients he’d need to make dinner that night. After checking and then picking up his phone to text Bren a shopping list, he finished the whiskey while eyeing up Stuart. “Why are you pushing Camilo on Abram?” he asked in an even tone of voice.

Davis gave a nervous laugh as he pulled out his own phone. “Oh, look, I gotta call I have to make,” he said as he began to inch out of the kitchen.

Stuart glared at his underling before he focused his attention back on Andrew. “I’m not ‘pushing’ him on Ram,” his glare went up when Davis, still in the process of escaping, scoffed ever so quietly, “I’m just letting the kiddo know he still has options.”

‘Kiddo’. It was clear that in Stuart’s mind, Abram was still his sixteen year old nephew or there about, was still some young man inexperienced with the world and in need of guidance and protection. Had ‘Abram’ ever needed such a thing? Andrew thought about how long his friend had lived on the run, surviving by his wits and his lies, dragged along by Mary as they kept one step ahead of Nathan’s people – ahead of murderers. How Nathaniel had grown up in a house full of them, most of them intent on making a small boy learn the meaning of pain and fear.

Andrew knew that he certainly hadn’t needed such things – well, up to a point. Both he and Abram had needed protection so badly when they were young and helpless, but the people who should have provided it the most had failed them, and they’d learned better on their own. They’d made do for themselves, and Stuart was a misguided fool to think that he could protect ‘Ram’ at this late date by steering him towards ‘nice’ mobsters.

“I wasn’t aware that I’d locked Abram into anything,” Andrew said as he leaned back against the kitchen counter. “There’s no signed contracts, he’s free to do whatever he wants.”

“He’s stubborn about things,” Stuart argued. “Tends to get into set patterns ‘n shite like that.” He jabbed his right forefinger in Andrew’s direction. “He needs to know that you’re not the only person out there for him.”

“So you think… what? That _you_ have a right to pick the person for him?” If this was an example of what Mary Hatford had grown up with, Andrew was beginning to understand why the hell she had rebelled as hard as she had. Still didn’t excuse her putting up with Nathan Wesninski as long as she did, not once she had a child, but no wonder she’d done something so fucked up. “Does it escape you that Abram’s a grown adult with a brain?”

“He-” Stuart let out a sharp breath as he reached for the whiskey bottle, then seemed to think better of it. “He deserves better, all right? He deserves someone who’ll keep him safe, who’ll keep him away from pricks like Jain and from having to get his hands bloody, all right?” He scowled at Andrew while he spoke, but there was more guilt behind the words than anything. “He shouldn’t be in this life, Mary didn’t want it for him, _dammit_.”

What did she expect for her son, when all she seemed to have taught him was how to lie and steal, when she showed him things like how to poison people and drive stolen cars when he should have been in school, when he should have been _safe_? And did Stuart actually expect Abram to embrace a quiet life as some mobster’s kept boyfriend, locked away in some ivory tower where he was protected from the dark, nasty world?

“Why don’t you try asking _him_ what he wants?” Andrew said as he struggled once more with his temper especially at the implication that he wouldn’t keep Abram safe, that he was failing on his promise. “Since he’s still around?”

The question seemed to take some of the iron out of Stuart’s spine, as his shoulders slumped forward and he finally did reach for the whiskey bottle. “I did, and he told me to stuff it about Camilo.” There was something baleful in the look he gave Andrew then. “You better be good at keeping your promises, Minyard.”

The admission left Andrew unwilling to say anything just then, since he had grown tired of sniping at a drunken Stuart and was a bit surprised that Abram had taken his uncle to task over the matter. So instead, he merely gave the man a bored look while he went to fetch some coffee, which he took with him into the living room where Davis was watching an inane talk show on the television.

“Don’t you have someplace to be?”

“Not really,” Davis said with a slight shrug while he glanced at the kitchen. “Not when he’s like that. We’ll hang out here for a bit to make sure that Abram comes back in one piece, then report in to Jamie and Will.”

“What else will you report?” Andrew asked as he picked up his e-reader. “Bren made a comment about updating you on something the other night, something about Abram and me.” He gave the enforcer a cold look over the edge of the e-reader until Davis squirmed on the couch.

“Aw, come on! People want updates, yeah?” Davis said with a nervous smile. “Are the two of you still… you know, is it getting serious, is it over yet and Abram available, are you available, stuff like that. The usual nattering that goes on when a bunch of us get together.”

Andrew wondered how pissed off his idiot would get about blood stains on the couch – there had been no mention of that topic as of yet. “A bunch of mobsters are gossiping about us.” Yes, it sounded just as inane spoken out loud as it did in his head.

Davis shrugged again while there was a slew of curses from the kitchen. “It’s… well, we bullshit and stuff when we get together for drinks.”

“About Abram and me.” Maybe the blankets would soak up most of the blood.

“And Jamie and Sean, and how much Ally’s fucked up lately, it’s not just you and Abram but you’re the new couple and no one thought that Abram would ever be availa- it’s just a bit of fun,” Davis said with an anxious laugh while Andrew continued to stare at him. “You did it at your old job, right?”

“ _No_ ,” Andrew said in a very flat and final tone of voice. If he said three words to his coworkers outside of the bare minimal he needed to for work, they considered that him being ‘loquacious’. He once deliberately freaked out an accountant who constantly used the last of the coffee and refused to brew a fresh pot by saying ‘have a nice day’ and making the man paranoid that Andrew had singled him out for something.

“Why am I not surprised,” Davis grumbled while wiping his hands over his sweaty face. “Well, we do it here.”

“Don’t,” Andrew warned him. “We’re not here to amuse you.”

“It’s not – fuck, but you’re a prickly bastard,” Davis complained. “Whatever.” He folded his arms over his chest and appeared to actually pout, which was an odd look for such a burly man with a new scar on his face, while he resumed watching a talk show featuring several celebrities and fawning hosts and with Stuart drunkenly muttering in the kitchen.

Bren showed up half an hour later, took it all in for a few seconds, dropped off the groceries as quickly as he could and was out the door about a minute later. For such a large man, he could move fast when given the right impetuous.

It was almost four hours later when Andrew’s phone pinged with a message from Abram letting him know that his idiot was headed home – and not much else. Setting his e-reader aside, Andrew gathered up an empty carton of ice cream and mug to take into the kitchen so he could get started on dinner.

Stuart had sobered up a little, but was still unsteady on his feet and bleary-eyed. “What the fuck are you doing?” he asked while he watched Andrew retrieve the ingredients he needed for the grilled cheese sandwiches.

“Making dinner. Go away.” Andrew waved the knife he held in his hand in a silent warning to the man.

“But that’s….” He gaped at the grilled cheese sandwiches that Andrew was assembling. “The fuck….”

Someone wasn’t getting the hint; Andrew gave him a narrowed look as he finished cutting the cheese then put pickles on a couple of them, peppers on a couple more, then some crushed potato chips on the rest. “What?”

“That’s not how you do that!”

“Yes it is,” Andrew told the bastard. “Go away,” he repeated as he turned on the heat beneath the skillet. He had to pick up the knife and wave it again to get Stuart to back off, then got the soup going.

“He’s trying to poison Ram,” Stuart complained to Davis. “Do you see that shite?”

“It’s probably a Yank thing,” Davis said as he tugged his boss toward the living room. “Like those weird orange crisps some of them love.”

Hmm, come to think of it, Andrew hadn’t seen any Cheetos or Doritos since he’d been in the UK – not that it mattered that much, as long as he had his ice cream. He ignored Stuart’s semi coherent rantings while he finished making the sandwiches, and it was only a few minutes later that Abram returned home.

Stuart nearly tripped over his own feet in his rush to greet his nephew, who appeared tired but in one piece as he entered the townhouse alone. “Ram! Are you… ah….”

Abram gave his uncle an exhausted smile while he hung up the leather jacket. “I’m fine,” he said, the familiar words making Andrew’s hands clench in anger. “Just a bit tired.” He ran his fingers through his hair, which was tousled and falling into his eyes. “Had to do a lot of translating.”

“Okay.” Stuart hovered near Abram for a few seconds before reaching out to cup his nephew’s face, his thumb rubbing over Abram’s left cheek for a moment. Andrew could see that Abram braced himself not to pull away from the gesture, but he managed a real smile for Stuart for a couple of seconds.

“Get some rest, kiddo,” Stuart told him. “And for fuck’s sake, don’t eat what the midget made you. I can pick up some take-away or something.”

“It’s all right,” Abram told him. “Go have Davis take you home.” Abram looked over his uncle’s shoulder at the enforcer, who nodded back at him.

“Don’t poison him!” Stuart called out as Davis herded him toward the door, which Andrew ignored since Abram was on his way into the kitchen; he only paid attention to the security system re-engaging then eyed his idiot up and down, taking in Abram’s fatigue and how his clothes looked much the same as when he’d left.

“So, that sounds rather promising,” Abram said as he all but collapsed onto one of the stools around the island. “What can be worse than jam?” At Andrew’s bland look, he groaned. “Oh, I’m not sure I want to know.”

“Wuss,” Andrew said as he put the plate of sandwiches down, then handed over a bowl of the chicken noodle soup. “What happened?” There weren’t the shadows beneath Abram’s eyes that had been there with the videos, but he appeared worn down, which wasn’t good.

His idiot paused to take a tentative bite of a half a sandwich, and after chewing for a few seconds sighed but didn’t grimace. “Let’s just say that I don’t believe that particular hotel wants me to come back, after the show Lloyd had us put on.” For a moment, Abram’s expression was a little too blank, then he had another bite of the sandwich. “And that certain civil servants aren’t honoring their oaths to queen and country.”

Andrew thought about that as he picked up a sandwich half himself, one of the ones with pickles in it. “So Lloyd’s still working on some ‘internal’ cleaning, is he?” he said after eating a piece of it, remembering what the spook had mentioned the other time.

“It seems to be that way.” Abram finished his sandwich and then had a spoonful of soup. “He wanted me to interpret for him since I’m not an official employee and he knows where my loyalty lies.” He reached with his left hand to touch the one tattoo hidden beneath the tight shirt he was wearing, then sighed before having more soup.

It made sense in a way, if Lloyd was dealing with crooked coworkers. Andrew had a couple more sandwich halves while he thought about everything, while he took in how quiet Abram was being and the pensive look on his idiot’s face. “What else happened?”

Abram frowned as he examined the plate of sandwich halves before he picked another, much like a person handling something they thought might be dangerous. “When I wasn’t translating the wiretappings for him, he kept going on about me working for him, about how he was putting together a new team and I’d be perfect for it. How I wouldn’t have to worry about my father or the Moriyamas if I worked for the government.”

Andrew really should have punched the bastard more, that one time. “There’s no way you can be certain about that.”

“No,” Abram admitted. “But it’s still not something I want rubbed in my face when there’s a chance of more people I care about being hurt or dying.”

Lloyd was a bastard for using Abram’s weakness against him. Andrew got up from his own stool and went over to stand in front of Abram, who was eyeing the sandwich in his hand as if trying to decide if he wanted to eat it or not. “Hey.” He waited until his idiot looked at him. “Do you think he can do a better job of protecting you?”

“No,” Abram said without any hint of hesitation while he put the sandwich down. “I just… it’s going to hurt, if something happens to you and all I can think about is maybe there was something else I could have done.”

“Nothing is going to happen to me,” Andrew told him.

“Don’t make promises you can’t keep,” Abram warned. “You made yourself quite the target in my father’s mind after what happened to Lola.”

“Lola should have proven to you that your father’s not infallible.”

“She proved that my father is willing to take risks to keep hold of his empire.” Abram sighed as he shook his head. “We can go around in circles about this all night.”

“You just don’t want to admit I’m right,” Andrew said as he reached out to finger the clingy material of Abram’s shirt.

“I’ll be the first to give you credit if you are.” Abram’s expression turned into something almost curious as he stared at Andrew. “What is it?”

“I didn’t think you owned something like this.” Andrew reached up to stroke his fingers beneath Abram’s left eye. “And eyeliner?” He scoffed a little. “To think it’s _me_ that your uncle calls a goth.”

That prompted a weary smile from his idiot. “Sometimes we have to go into clubs to track people down or to ensure that things stay quiet. I tried it a few times but….” Abram’s smile faltered. “Too crowded, and not the type of place I enjoy. Ally’s better at it.” Then it was his turn to scoff. “Well, when he remains focused.”

Andrew could easily imagine why Abram wouldn’t like such a place, especially if he was there by himself. “Who picked out the outfit, Liliya?”

“No, Ally.”

That was a bit of a surprise, until Andrew remembered Abram telling him stories about his moronic cousin trying to get him ‘laid’ and so forth. “Huh,” was all he said as he lightly smudged the eyeliner a little more.

Abram’s breath caught and he closed his eyes. “Yes or no?” he asked as he leaned a little closer

For a moment Andrew worried about Jain and… and about what? Abram had told the man ‘no’, and so far showed no sign of regretting it. Andrew needed to stop ‘waiting’ for that bit of imagined whiplash when it was his own fears coming into play, not Abram’s. So instead, he once more swiped his finger below his friend’s left eye while saying ‘yes’.

Their kiss started out slow, almost tentative, and then Abram was out of the stool so they were on a more even footing, so the kiss could deepen. Andrew held his idiot’s face cupped between his hands as his tongue swiped into Abram’s mouth, then pulled back just enough to speak. “Above the waist, but you can touch beneath the clothes.” Then his own hands gave a slight tug at Abram’s shirt.

“Yes, yes it’s fine,” Abram said before he nuzzled at Andrew’s temple for a moment before having to move away as the shirt was removed. He laughed a little as his hair fell back onto his face, his hands reaching out to give a quick tug at Andrew’s sweatshirt. “Upstairs? Or here?”

Andrew thought about it as he removed his own top, then tugged Abram closer. “Why? That eager for me to suck you off?” he asked as he ran his fingers through the auburn curls.

Abram shivered a little, his eyes drifting closed and his teeth biting into his bottom lip, then he shook his head while his hands stroked along Andrew’s chest, fingers lingering for a moment over the Hatford tattoo. “Not… not me.” He opened his eyes as he rocked his hips into Andrew’s. “I want to do you,” he said, a blush spreading across his cheeks. “Want to blow you.” When Andrew didn’t say anything, he took to frowning. “Dammit, it’s not… I _want_ to,” he argued. “I’ve _never_ wanted to, before,” he said in a quieter voice. “If you don’t want it, that’s one thing, but stop worrying about me, dammit.”

Things were quiet for about a minute after that while Abram stared at him and Andrew held on to Abram’s hair, while he thought about everything and what he wanted. Fuck, what _he_ wanted – he could all too easily imagine Abram on his knees with his mouth around Andrew’s cock, so much that he was hard and aching for it. So much that he had to close his eyes and take a couple of deep breaths to keep him from saying ‘yes, yes, _yes_ ’. Because it wasn’t something he did, to trust another person to do that for him, to _want_ another person to do that for him. But he wanted it from Abram, and he was surprised to know that he trusted Abram that much.

Did he trust the idiot to be telling the truth? He opened his eyes to find Abram still looking at him, so fucking earnest and a bit angry, as if annoyed that Andrew doubted him. “You don’t have to,” he attempted to argue.

“I know that,” Abram snapped, and then let out a slow breath of his own. “But I still want to do it,” he said while looking straight at Andrew.

Such a damn, stubborn idiot. Andrew pulled him in for a fervent kiss, one that had Abram moaning into his mouth as they stumbled toward the cabinets; he grunted a little as his back hit into the marble rim of the counter, which provoked a quick chuckle from Abram.

“May I?” Abram asked as his hands skimmed down Andrew’s chest.

“Yes,” Andrew told him, then reached down to catch them before they went too far. “Just the front.”

“All right.” Abram nodded to show his understanding, then resumed stroking his way along Andrew’s chest and abdomen once his hands were released; he leaned in for another kiss, that one little more than a peck to the lips, then trailed his mouth along Andrew’s jaw. The little shit just had to pay more attention to Andrew’s neck, enough to make him grind his teeth together in an effort to remain quiet as his neck was kissed and nipped at and sucked on hard enough to leave a hickey or two. He allowed it for a couple of minutes, until Abram unbuttoned his jeans then pulled down the zipper.

He pulled his idiot up for another passionate kiss, fingers buried in the unruly curls as Abram’s hands slipped into his underwear and began to stroke along his cock. Andrew shuddered at the firm caresses while he skimmed his left hand down Abram’s back, along sleek muscles and scars until he could cup his friend’s firm ass and give it a squeeze. The resulting moan made him jerk his hips forward as his teeth nipped oh so gently onto Abram’s bottom lip.

“Bloody hell,” Abram groaned, his voice hoarse with desire, then he slid along Andrew’s front while pushing down Andrew’s jeans and underwear. Shivering a little at the sight of Abram going on his knees for him, Andrew once more threaded his fingers through Abram’s curls and drunk in the sight of that gorgeous face turned to look up at him, the eyes rimmed with smeared eyeliner and the pleased smile on reddened lips before Abram parted them to take Andrew’s cock into his mouth.

Andrew hissed in pleasure as moist warmth engulfed him, as Abram’s mouth slid along the length of his cock at a slow, steady pace. As those pale eyes, now darkened by passion, stared up at him through thick lashes, at both the sound and resulting vibration from the pleased moans Abram made as he sucked and licked at Andrew’s cock. _Fuck_.

Andrew did his best not to jerk his hips as the pleasure bit sharper into him, as his legs started to tremble and his breathing sped up. Abram’s left hand stroked along Andrew’s hip, the touch light and teasing, while Abram’s right hand was wrapped tight around the base of Andrew’s cock and slid along with Abram’s mouth. A particularly low moan while the idiot took him in deep made the pleasure spike too deep, too sharp, and Andrew had to clutch at the counter while he came.

Abram remained on his knees while Andrew struggled to regain control of himself, only moving to wipe at his mouth with the back of his hand, and then Andrew gave a gentle tug to his idiot’s hair to signal that he could stand up. Wincing a little as he did, probably over kneeling so long on the tiles, Abram skimmed his hands along Andrew’s body while Andrew pulled him in for a kiss, hesitating only a moment at tasting himself on his friend’s lips. He cupped Abram’s face between his hands for a couple of seconds before once more skimming them down Abram’s back until they stopped at the waistband of the jeans. “Yes or no?”

“Yes,” Abram breathed out, and groaned again when Andrew managed to slid his left hand into the back of those tight pants. Smiling just a little, Andrew worked on unfastening them with his other hand, which prompted a pleased sigh followed by a gasp when his hand slipped into Abram’s underwear.

“I want to see you come,” he told his idiot as he began to stroke him. “Look at me.”

“I… okay.” The blush was back on Abram’s face, but he looked at Andrew, his hands coming to rest on Andrew’s chest while he shivered a little. Andrew shifted a bit against the counter and widened his legs so Abram could nestle between them, his right hand moving steadily along the Brit’s hard cock while his left alternately squeezed and stroked. Abram continued to shiver while low, breathy little moans slipped past his parted lips and his thick eyelashes fluttered, but he didn’t break eye contact – not even when he came a minute or two later while gasping out Andrew’s name.

He slumped against Andrew, his bowed head resting against Andrew’s left shoulder, while Andrew felt something so _heavy_ and _warm_ and _solid_ settle inside of his chest – despite the growing ache of the counter biting into his lower back or the mess on his hand or the need for a shower. He closed his eyes for a moment to better savor the memory of Abram’s gorgeous face as he came, at the feel of warm breath against his neck… and then wiped his hand on his idiot’s jeans since they were already a mess.

Abram stiffened at that. “You bloody prat,” he mumbled. “Really?”

“You need to wash them anyway,” Andrew argued before he brushed his lips against Abram’s temple. “Now move.”

“This can’t possibly be normal, can it?” Abram complained as he took a step back, then grimaced as he pulled at the waistband of his boxerbriefs. “I mean… does everyone… oh, never mind.”

Andrew waited until he pulled up his own clothes to answer that nonsense; he grabbed his shirt then hooked his finger beneath his idiot’s chin to pull him in for a quick yet bruising kiss. “Not everyone will kill a guy in the garage for you to spare your precious grout and carpet.”

That earned him a breathtaking smile – seriously, perhaps he should look into seeing a doctor or something, make sure he didn’t have some developing heart problems. “True. I’ll just ask Liliya for more clothes.”

And suits, definitely some more suits, Andrew thought to himself as he followed Abram upstairs, intent on using his friend’s shower again – he also needed to find out if Liliya had done the linen shopping for the idiot, since Abram’s were better. Until he did, he’d just keep walking off with all of Abram’s towels.

*******

Abram felt the pleasant burn of muscles straining after jogging a couple of miles, and was a bit regretful that the day's run was coming to an end. Unfortunately, he could all but feel Andrew's heavy gaze drilling into his back and knew that his friend would have quite a lot to say if they didn't wrap up things soon.

They were only about a quarter of a mile from the townhouse when Abram heard the rev of a motorbike engine through the earbuds, since the one song on his playlist had finished and another had yet to start playing. Of course Andrew would hear it, since he didn't run to any music, he just had the buds in his ear in case anyone called while they were out, so Abram wasn't too surprised to find the back of his windbreaker grabbed and himself jerked toward the American while the bike all of a sudden swerved away from them.

Away from _Andrew_ , whom Abram was now firmly pressed against.

By the time the bike turned around, Andrew had them against one of the cars parked in the street and had hit it hard enough to set off an alarm, which had people coming around to see what was happening. Abram thought he saw a flash of dark metal as the motorbike roared past, its license plate obscured, but the driver must have figured that there were too many witnesses to fire off any bullets.

He had the feeling that he better enjoy the run home, because it would be the last time that he would be jogging outside for a while, despite the fact that the weather had been semi-decent that morning.

Andrew must have started calling Stuart and Jamie even if he was a little short of breath while running, because Abram's phone started ringing even before he reached the townhouse. As expected, Stuart chastised him to stay inside until they figured out what was going on (it was obvious - either Abram's father or one of the Moriyamas had just attempted to take out Andrew in an effort to get at Abram), while Jamie flat out told him to stick to the treadmill for the near future. Abram dropped his phone onto the couch as he made his way toward the stairs. "Don't be so smug about this," he told Andrew.

"There is the part where someone tried to run me over, but I can live with it if it means sleeping in each morning," Andrew said as he followed Abram upstairs.

"Prat," Abram sang out.

"A prat who'll be sleeping in," Andrew shot back. "Have fun running nowhere."

Abram didn't even try to argue anymore after that, he just stomped into his room so he could take a shower, for a few minutes taking out his anger at his father and the Moriyamas for the latest attempt to fuck up his life on Andrew, who was a convenient target – also a linen thief, the bastard, judging from the only two remaining towels left in Abram’s bathroom. What the hell? Didn’t he have any of his own? By the time Abram was clean and dressed in comfortable clothes, he went downstairs to see what his larcenous friend wanted for breakfast.

Judging from the bag of chocolate chips and the box of hotcake mix sitting out, he had a fair idea of what it would be and sighed. "Aren't you getting tired of them yet?" Which really was a silly question, considering that the meal contained chocolate.

"No," Andrew told him while giving him a gentle shove toward the stove. "Get to it."

"I'm going to laugh one of these days a decade or two from now when all of your teeth finally rot and you have to get false ones," he mocked his friend as he grabbed the eggs and milk that he needed for the batter. "All of this sugar has to be horrid for them."

Andrew was quiet upon hearing that, but as soon as Abram was heating up the pan to make the hotcakes he came up behind him, his arm wrapped loosely around Abram's waist and chin resting on Abram's left shoulder.

A couple of weeks ago, the closeness would have startled Abram, would have made him tense up and wonder what was going on. A couple of months ago, it would have made him either freeze or lash out – mostly likely while armed with a knife. However, lately they had... Abram didn't know quite what they were doing, other than perhaps relaxing a little more in each other's presence? Learning to define the thing between them a little better, perhaps, to learn when they needed to ask permission and when they didn't. Something like this, like a casual touch, was fine unless it was a 'bad' day or time, and they knew each other well enough to judge when to give each other space.

Abram never thought there would come a day when he'd live with another person, let alone one who knew him well enough to judge when to 'back off'. That there would be someone he'd let in close like this, someone he could relax against while he made them breakfast.

"Make them bigger," Andrew chided, while Abram rolled his eyes.

"Why aren't you doing this?"

"Because breakfast is all on you." Andrew dug his chin deeper into Abram's shoulder. "Besides, who got shot for whom, hmm? Nearly tranq’ed as well, among other things. And now nearly run over?"

Somehow, it never worked out when Abram brought up everything _he_ went through, just a certain prat. "Is there a point here where I'm supposed to care?" He smiled when the arm tightened around his waist enough to make him wheeze. "Fine, you impatient git."

The hotcakes were made without too much incident, which was good considering how often they'd been requested lately. Once Andrew was seated at the island with a large stack of them, some whipped cream and syrup, Abram made a couple of eggs for himself and had them with toast, unable to stomach something so sweet for breakfast.

He honestly didn’t understand how Andrew managed such a feat, how he kept down all that sugar yet looked so amazing, had a body that made Abram want to run his hands… all right, not appropriate breakfast thoughts, he told himself as he went to fetch some more coffee.

“So I think it’s safe to say that either your father or one of the Moriyama brothers have gotten around to doing something,” Andrew said, finally done decimating his morning dose of sugar and fat.

“Yes, I’m not going to argue with you on that.” Abram sighed as he held up the pot of coffee, and came over to the island to refill Andrew’s mug as well. “Took them longer than I suspected.”

“Well, Riko’s been busy with the fallout of several ex-Ravens ending up in rehab, the poor dear.” It was amazing how deft Andrew was at sarcasm, when he usually preferred to express as little emotion as possible – unless you knew him.

“Oh yes, ‘poor dear’ indeed. My heart, it bleeds for him.” Abram smiled as he brought over the milk and sugar so his friend could fix his coffee. “Can I use my phone this time?”

“He’s not worth the effort,” Andrew said with a slight sneer. “Speaking of rehab, Kevin should just have another week or so left of his sentence.”

Abram wasn’t surprised that Andrew would see it that way. “What was Liz’s last update on him?”

Andrew was quiet while he added enough sugar and milk to his coffee to turn it a pale brown color. “That he was angry about what they’d told him, but he seemed to be asking questions and spending time in the center’s library, and he didn’t go running to tell anyone.” He stared at the counter for a few more seconds before sipping his drink. “In the end, it’s up to him to if he’s going to believe that Tetsuji or Kengo could have done something like that. After everything he’s seen over the last twenty years, he’s beyond foolish if he doesn’t have some doubts at least, but we can’t make him believe.”

Just like Andrew couldn’t make Kevin believe that he was better off without Riko and Tetsuji a few years ago, back at Palmetto State. Couldn’t make Kevin believe that he would be fine in the Pro league without Andrew holding his hand all the time. “You’ve done what you can.”

“One wonders,” Andrew said, then shook his head. “I can understand Riko being busy, what about Ichiro and Wesninski?”

It always was a bit of a punch to the chest, hearing his father’s name spoken out loud. “My father might have had some trouble replacing three valuable people, depending on how important the Hernandez brothers were in his organization.” From the little that Gabe had ‘said’, it had sounded like the two had been working their way up to the higher ranks, so that had to have been a difficult loss, almost as much as Lola. Abram closed his eyes and rubbed at his face as he did his best to push aside all memory of the two men, of El- of the two men.

He started at the feel of fingers lightly combing through his hair and then relaxed, a smile tugging at his lips. “I know,” he sighed. Stop thinking about what happened, he was certain Andrew was trying to tell him. He was safe, it was over, and Andrew would never let anything like that happen again.

“If you do, then why are you such an idiot?”

“To give you something to do?”

That earned him a gentle tug to his hair. “Pizza for dinner tonight.”

“Okay,” he agreed as he opened his eyes to find Andrew leaning toward him. “Hmm, how do you feel about pineapple and ham as toppings?” He laughed as he got a hand shoved into his face. “Joking!”

“Why do I bother trying to keep you from being kidnapped?” Andrew grumbled as he got up to drop his dirty plate in the sink. “My life would be so much better then.”

“No chocolate chip hotcakes, _hon_ ,” Abram answered with a pleased smile.

Andrew seemed to consider that for a moment while he poured himself some more coffee. “I hate you, _babe_ ,” he muttered before going off to the living room, probably to start a fire and study some more Russian.

Feeling oddly happy despite the whole running fiasco, Abram cleaned the kitchen then started on his work for the day. He felt some of the warmth inside of him fade him when he saw the emails from Zhou – there had been a slight… distance from the man ever since Abram’s last meeting with Jain. He didn’t know what had been said about it, what Jain _could_ say… but he hoped that there weren’t too many negative rumors out there about him.

In the end? He couldn’t do much about it, and it wouldn’t make him change his mind. Wouldn’t make him change his decision, his choice.

He was about halfway through a document for Jamie when his phone rang; he picked it up, expecting it to be his cousin or maybe his uncle calling about something, perhaps following up about the morning’s incident. “Yes?”

“Lead a charmed life, don’t you, Junior?”

Abram’s breath caught in his throat at the sound of his father’s voice, barely changed after all these years. It was a little deeper, a little rougher, but still contained that North-eastern nasal accent his mother had sneered about and smacked him for the couple of times it had crept into his voice whenever he spoke with an American accent, still had that mocking tone which made it clear how disappointed Nathan was in his only son.

“Fuh-father,” Abram breathed out as he slumped over the island, as he searched out Andrew only to remember that his friend had gone out into the back garden a few minutes ago for a cigarette and his own phone, probably to talk to Nicky.

“You sound just like her, just like Stuart,” Nathan Wesninski sneered. “Bet that makes him happy. Hear he took you in, but he does a lousy job of looking after you, doesn’t he? Had to go hire you a guard dog and everything.”

Abram forced himself to think, to remain calm and push down the panic, and made his trembling fingers type out a message to several people with his laptop while he spoke. “Is that why you attempted to hurt Andrew this morning? Or was that Riko?”

“If it had been me, your dog would be dead and you busted up. I’m getting past the point where I care what condition you’re in when I hand you over, Junior,” Nathan informed him. “In fact, I think the more broken you are, the better. You’ve got fifteen years of lessons long overdue, after all.” Nathan’s voice fell into a deeper register. “You remember your lessons, don’t you, boy? Remember how to stay still and not cry or they’ll be even worse? That’s not going to save you this time. I’m not going to stop until you’re nothing but scar tissue and broken bones, I promise you.”

Abram struggled to breathe, to push aside the memories of his father looming over him with a bloody knife, of the pain burning along his nerves from the latest cut, the latest _lesson_ , the scent of copper and fear in the air and Nathaniel’s throat so thick with mucus from swallowing his tears that he could barely breathe anymore, mucus and blood from biting the inside of his mouth. He yanked on his hair in an effort to center himself and jumped when he heard one of the french doors slam shut, when he saw Andrew stalking toward him with a furious expression on his handsome face.

“You’re never going to touch me, you fucking sadist,” he told his father, having to press the phone close to his face because of the way his hand was trembling so much. “You have to resort to something as pathetic as threats like these because you know you can’t do anything anymore.”

He could hear his father’s heavy breaths on the other end while Andrew came over to him, his friend’s hands gentle on the back of his neck, on the side of his face as he slumped against Andrew’s solid warmth. Then Nathan gave a loud scoff. “You may look like me, but you’re that whore’s son, all right. You got _her_ mouth and attitude. I should have beaten you out of her before you were even born, you ungrateful little shit, but I thought it would make her more biddable. Thought it would give her something to do for a few years until I had to hand you over.” Nathan’s laugh then was bitter, as if he realized just how stupid he’d been all those years ago. “Should have saved myself the grief and killed you both.”

“You probably should have,” Abram agreed, for a moment thinking about all of the pain he and his mother had lived through, all of the pain and fear. As he thought about what him living had meant for so many people – and then Andrew’s hand shifted into his hair and he let it all go. “But you didn’t, so it’s too late now. How does it feel, knowing that mistake will cost you everything?”

“This isn’t over, Junior, not until I hand you over to Ichiro too broken to do anything but lick his feet, or anything else he wants.”

“How does it feel, having the knife at your own throat for once?” Abram asked as his free hand pressed against Andrew’s chest, over his heart. “To feel the fear, to feel hunted? Not so nice, is it, _Father_?”

“Maybe you won’t be able to do any licking, after I cut that tongue of yours out,” Nathan spat.

“I hear that Ichiro already has your replacements lined up. ‘The king is dead, long live the king’,” he told the old bastard before he hung up, unwilling to put up with the man’s abuse any longer and certain that Jason should be able to pull any information he needed from the call.

“Bloody hell,” he said as he allowed the phone to fall from his numb right hand, only for Andrew to catch it and set it aside on the island, next to Abram’s computer, then to once more cup the side of Abram’s face. “Bloody fucking hell,” he said, the words coming out ragged as he struggled to prevent a panic attack.

“Don’t,” Andrew told him. “ _Don’t_. Breathe in and out.” The feel of Andrew’s warm fingers on his cheek and in his hair helped to center Abram, as did the even look from those hazel eyes. “You’re here, and he can’t touch you. He’s just a twisted, sadistic old prick who is trying to rattle you any way he can since he can’t touch you.”

“I… I know,” Abram sighed as he closed his eyes, his hands coming up to lightly grip Andrew’s wrists. “I know that, it’s just… I never talked back to him before.” To Lola and Romero and even Jackson, and how he’d regretted it once they’d ‘taught’ him some manners. Still, he’d had his moments of defiance during the ten years in Baltimore, especially when he’d seen his father’s people hurting or belittling his mother. But never his father, never the Butcher. Even Abram’s mother had taught him to listen to his father, to obey the man as much as possible, because there was a world of difference between Nathan’s ‘lessons’ and those of his people.

Andrew’s fingers rubbed against Abram’s scalp for a few seconds. “And the world hasn’t crashed down on your head or come to an end. It’s like I told you, he’s just an old man, a pathetic boogeyman who is much scarier in the dark.”

“It doesn’t mean that I want to run into him any time soon,” Abram admitted with a weak laugh.

“Don’t worry, leave him to me. Killing abusive parents is a talent of mine,” Andrew said, his tone much too light for the topic.

Abram opened his eyes to stare up at his friend, his hands once more sliding along to rest against Andrew’s chest. “I’m not… I’m not asking you to do that.” The words came out quiet and a bit tentative, since Abram remembered his friend telling him about Tilda and Aaron. “I’m not asking that of you.”

“I know.” Andrew’s left hand settled on the back of Abram’s neck. “That’s why I’m offering to do it.”

‘Offering’, as if it was such a little thing; Abram smiled as his fingers splayed out over Andrew’s heart. “Well, if you insist,” he said as he bowed his head, even as he hoped that they never got within a thousand kilometers of his father. Let the man be killed by one of his rivals and that be that.

Andrew huffed a little as he tilted up Abram’s chin. “I’m just doing my job. Don’t want there to be any ‘lazy midget goth’ comments from that prick of an uncle of yours.”

“Heh.” Abram smiled as he thought of something. “’Guard dog’. Both my father and Lloyd referred to you as a dog.”

The look on Andrew’s face just then was one of pure disgust. “All right, I think I actually prefer ‘midget goth’.”

“I’m not seeing it myself – you’re more of a cat, what with the seeking out warm spots and the innate laziness. Or maybe a bear, if you believe the misconception about sweets,” Abram argued.

“Before I kill him, I’m going to ask your father how often you were dropped on your head as a child,” Andrew stated in a bland voice, which made Abram glare at him until he was kissed, at first gently and then with growing ardor until his lips ached from the press of Andrew’s teeth and all he could think about was getting into the living room and on the couch so he could have his friend’s weight pressing down upon him and-

And of course his phone had to ring, the sound startling a yelp out of him. At least it was Jamie that time, her voice angry and loud enough to be heard when a visibly exasperated Andrew picked it up to answer it.

“What? He’s fine now,” Andrew told her. “He told him to fuck off, basically.” Andrew rolled his eyes at Jamie’s question, which sounded like ‘are you certain’. “No, I’m talking to you while he’s huddled in a ball of misery on the floor here right next to me. Does anyone in the family realize he’s twenty-five and not three years old?”

Hearing the bite of annoyance in his friend’s voice, Abram got up to fetch some whisky, and figured it wouldn’t be that bad of a thing to pour himself some gin as well. Meanwhile, Andrew continued to deal with Jamie.

“From what I can tell, the usual threats.” Andrew sighed. “What did your deadbeat dad want, _babe_?” he called out.

“To sum up the high points, he regrets letting me be born, I’m too much like my mother, I’m going to be beaten within an inch of my life if he gets his hands on me, which will be any day now, by the by, my future is one of never-ending misery,” Abram spoke out loud enough that Jamie should be able to hear him. “Oh, and he said he wasn’t behind this morning – that if he was, you’d be dead, _hon_.”

Andrew scoffed before he resumed talking to Jamie. “Did you get that?” He was quiet for a moment. “Yes, I already figured that.” There was another pause. “Tell him to bring some groceries while he’s at it.” Then Andrew hung up. “Jason will be here later with a new card for your phone.”

At least Abram wasn’t getting stuck with an entirely new one. “Wonderful.” Between the morning’s attempt on them and the call, Abram would say that the quiet ‘lull’ was officially over.

“Yes. I’ll let Nicky know later that I doubt we’ll be visiting any time soon.” Andrew didn’t appear too upset with the idea, making Abram wonder how much of a pest his friend’s cousin had been on their latest call.

“Look on the bright side, you definitely have lots of time to study your Russian,” Abram said before he tossed back his gin.

The comment earned him a flat look, then Andrew was drinking his whisky and setting the glass aside. “You still working?”

Abram considered the question for a moment then shook his head. “No, think I need a break.” He wasn’t in the best mental space at the moment, not after hearing his father’s voice and talking to the man. It would be a good idea to stop for a while, perhaps watch a movie or some other distraction for a couple of hours, and come back to the documents later in the evening. With that in mind, he went over to his laptop and saved his work so he could resume it later.

“Good.” Andrew came up to him, his hand once more warm and heavy on Abram’s neck. “Yes or no?”

Abram smiled as he thought about what they’d been doing before Jamie had called, about what he’d wanted to do before they got interrupted. “Yes, just one moment.” He picked up his phone so he could send a text to his uncle Stuart to let the man know that he was all right and that Jamie was looking into things, then put the phone on ‘vibrate’ mode for the time being; Andrew nodded in approval before tugging Abram into the living room, hands already slipping beneath Abram’s loose jumper.

Abram spared a thought about how he hoped that Jason didn’t come over anytime soon, then allowed Andrew to distract him in the most pleasurable way.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ******  
> Hmmm, that was... what was it? Some more unresolved stuff, I suppose. But a tiny bit of fluff? Maybe.
> 
> I seem to have done a thing. I don't know, wanted a palate cleanser before I dove into 18, and this is what happened:  
> http://nekojitachan.tumblr.com/post/155047348019/just-throwing-this-out-here-i-actually-have-this
> 
> I has too much mythology in my head sometimes. And adored Sandman. Ah well. So much to focus on once Armies is wrapped up.
> 
> Happy New Year to everyone!
> 
> As always, comments and kudos are appreciated.  
> *******


	17. Big Guns

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy New Year! And now we have a new chapter of Armies.
> 
> Hmm, those last two chapters were nice, weren't they? Yes they were. So nice.
> 
> Now we have this.
> 
> Once again, much thanks to Huntswodh for the beta! Any remaining mistakes are my own.  
> *******

*******

“Would you like some coffee?” Abram offered Jason, his polite mask in place and hair still damp from the shower, ends curlier than normal. Andrew noticed how the young man stared at Abram’s new hairstyle, that and the bruises on the idiot’s neck left exposed by the dark grey, overlarge sweater.

“Ah, yu-yeah.” Jason cleared his throat and tried again, his voice not as high-pitched that time. “Yes, please.”

Abram glanced over at Andrew, who nodded as well, then went into the kitchen to fetch their drinks; that left Andrew alone with the enforcer/techie, who gazed at him intently for several seconds before a slight flush colored his face in a rather unbecoming way, considering the uneven splotches, then shook his head as if to clear out an unwelcome thought. “So, the, ah, phone call?” He was back to being a bit squeaky, too.

“Yes, Nathan Wesninski.” What was the man’s problem? He worked with Liz, a lesbian, all the time, and Liz had no problem talking about Liliya. Andrew doubted that Jamie would allow one of her assistants to have a problem with homosexuals considering the shit her ‘little cousin’ had taken from some people.

“Yes, Wesninski,” Jason repeated while running his left hand through his hair and pulling a tablet out of the messenger bag by his side on the couch; combined with the torn jeans and layered long-sleeved t-shirts, he was a far cry from the usual ‘Hatford’ image, but Andrew got the impression that he spent most of his time in Jamie’s office. “Abram kept him talking long enough for us to trace the call, but of course the bastard didn’t use a registered phone. Not only that, he was using some tech which prevented me from tracking it.” Jason looked up, all signs of nervousness gone from his demeanor while he swiped his fingers over the tablet. “Voice recognition points to it being Wesninski, but I can’t verify where he is.”

“I could have told you that he was my father,” Abram said when he returned to the living room with three mugs held in his narrow, long-fingered hands; he handed one to Jason before he settled on the loveseat next to Andrew, who took the mug of sweetened coffee. “Can we confirm that he’s still in the States? What about his probation?”

Jason looked over at them and then ducked his head for some reason, once more intent on his tablet. “I can do that much at least, there’s been several sightings of him around Baltimore. It’s just… it’s worrying, how he got his hands on a phone like that. It’s not your typical burner phone, not something that can block _me_ , and it’s nothing that his people have been able to do before.”

Abram seemed to consider that while he sipped his coffee, then glanced over at Andrew, who shrugged. “He’s fighting for his position and life,” Andrew said. “Maybe he recruited someone who could do it.”

“Maybe,” Jason agreed. “Then there’s that email of yours.” He finally looked up at Andrew, and that time he had no problem meeting Andrew’s eyes. “Which I _still_ can’t trace. This goes beyond stripping IPs and multiple VPNs and high-bit encryptions and… it’s professional stuff. Really, really professional stuff.” He didn’t sound happy about it.

Andrew thought about that as he had some coffee, and wasn’t happy himself. “What are you saying? Why would someone with that amount of skill be trying to impersonate Aaron?” Beside him, Abram had gone thoughtful, his attention seemingly focused in his half-empty mug.

“I don’t know,” Jason admitted. “Jamie’s wondering if there’s new players entering the fray, or if someone made some very tricky deals. It’s difficult for us to tell, with most of our resources over here.”

There had been a second email, also sent to the Trash pile without being opened. “Should I respond?” Andrew hated playing games, but he also hated unsolved mysteries. He also hated potential threats at his back.

Jason shook his head. “Jamie’s of the opinion ‘no’ – the last time we flipped a trap….” He glanced over at Abram then shook his head again. “Too much risk, especially since they probably noticed me tracking back on the email by now.”

Wonderful. Andrew finished off his coffee then leaned forward to set the mug on the table. “Anything else?”

“Not too much, sorry.” Jason gave an apologetic smile while holding out his hand to Abram. “Let me put a few more things on your phone, just in case he calls again.”

“I bloody well hope not,” Abram mumbled, but gave the man his phone before slumping against Andrew, who allowed him to rest like that for about a minute before gently shoving him off so he could stand up. Once on his feet, he went to go get some ice cream.

He stood in the kitchen while he ate his snack and watched Jason add a new SIM card and a few more apps to Abram’s phone and explain them to the idiot, attention drawn to how Abram never got too close to Jason, to the elegant line of Abram’s tense back and the way his face was obscured by auburn hair. To the thought of how Abram had been beneath him on the couch a short while ago, body writhing against his, back arched and legs- right, not the best time.

Andrew glared at his ice cream as he thought about how Abram could so easily derail his mind, how something that once would have been repugnant to consider now was something he… he _reflected_ upon, or whatever. That he found himself remembering as a good thing, as something he found himself wanting more of, found himself looking forward to doing again. Bee would say it was part of the damn _healing_ process, would make it sound so fucking _simple_. Like you just put the pieces back together and waited for them to rejoin.

Like you just went out and found yourself an improbable idiot who put up with your impossible self.

He shoved a spoonful of decadent chocolate truffle brownie ice cream into his mouth and glared at the living room until Jason stood up to leave, once more shy around Abram. Abram saw him to the door, then came over to join Andrew, his bemused expression turning into one of confusion when he noticed Andrew’s glower. “Unhappy about the news?” When Andrew didn’t say anything, he sighed and went to collect the dirty mugs, then put them in the dishwasher.

“Ivy and Carrie will be here soon for the laundry and to clean up,” he said as he glanced around the place. “We’ll need to decide something about the back garden eventually, too.” When Andrew still didn’t say anything, he risked a tentative touch to Andrew’s left arm. “I’m sorry that there wasn’t better news about the email.”

The idiot thought Andrew was upset over the email in his brother’s name, after all the shit with Abram’s father. Again _, idiot_. Despite his intentions, Andrew felt some of his anger dissipate, and he reached out to tuck aside the hair falling onto Abram’s pale eyes. “Come on, let’s go.”

“Okay. Uhm, where?” Andrew’s idiot asked, even though they’d been told to stay at home.

“Anywhere. Nowhere.” Andrew grabbed a napkin and a pen from a drawer to leave a note that they were going for a drive so the cleaning women didn’t flip out when they found the place empty, just in case they reported such things to Stuart and Jamie, then grabbed his keys from the island. They couldn’t be bitched at too much if they didn’t _stop_ anywhere, if they just went out and drove around.

He took the Vanquish since it was a little less noticeable than the McLaren, and caught the smile on Abram’s face as they pulled out of the townhouse; he really didn’t have a destination in mind, he just wanted to get them out of the house and away from everything for a bit - that and he always felt better when he drove. When he felt as if he was leaving everything behind and escaping for a little while. Beside him, Abram lit two cigarettes and they smoked them in silence while Andrew did his best to get past the worst of the city’s congested traffic.

They rode like that for a couple of hours, rode with only each other in the small space inside of the sports car, with the sound of the Vanquish’s motor purring, their own breaths as they exhaled the smoke (more him than Abram), the vibration of their phones which they ignored. Abram was there beside him with that damn slight smile on his face as if being with Andrew was one of the few joys in his life, as that strange damn contentment settled in Andrew’s chest. There was no need for words, just the occasional brush of fingers when Abram handed over another cigarette.

Andrew thought about driving in the U.S., about crossing states as big as England if not bigger, about driving for hours without seeing anything, but it was all right, driving just then with Abram. Maybe one day they’d take the Chunnel and drive across Europe, on the winding roads lining the coast and then go inward across the continent.

When did he start thinking of the future like that?

Soon enough they were back at the townhouse, and he wasn’t too surprised to find Bren waiting for them in the living room. “Got a few people worried about you, you know,” the enforcer told them while turning off their television.

“We needed to get out for a little bit,” Abram said while he fiddled with his phone, probably turning it off of mute. “We didn’t stop anywhere, other than once for petrol.”

Bren sighed as he gave Andrew a searching look. “People are worried, okay? Try to do better than a note next time. Though have to say, didn’t mind spending some time catching up on my shows,” he offered up with a smile while he stretched.

“If you touched the ice cream, you’re dead,” Andrew warned as he headed into the kitchen.

“I know better than that,” Bren said with an offended sniff. “I’ll bring some more crisps tomorrow, though, so don’t get all stabby just yet.”

Andrew waved him off while he went for a pint of ice cream, then sat down at the island to eat it while he checked his phone to see some rather angry texts from Stuart about ‘kidnapping’ Abram, a couple of annoyed ones from Jamie about missing the point of ‘stay the hell at home’, and one from Davis about ‘Gretna Green?’. Hmm, the ground out back should be soft enough now to start burying people in it.

Meanwhile, Abram seemed to be stuck trying to placate his overbearing uncle. “No, we’re fine, really,” he was telling Stuart. “We just decided to get out while they cleaned the place.” He sighed over something. “Do you want us to clean the place ourselves? I don’t have a problem with it.” He sighed again. “Then why are you complaining when we just want to get out of their way? Fine, I’ll text you next time.” Now he was looking a bit pissed off. “I think considering the fact that I’m a functioning adult with a brain of my own, I’m being very understanding here, don’t you?” That came out loaded with a good bit of chilling ice, and Stuart must have figured out that he was pushing too far, because it appeared that he spent some time backpedaling on the other end. “Fine,” Abram said with a hint less chill. “Yes, I’ll talk to you tomorrow, good night.”

Andrew wasn’t surprised to see his idiot go over to start the water boiling so he could make himself some tea, and imagined that there would be a good bit of Baileys added to it soon enough. “Maybe try disowning him one day?”

Abram huffed at that, and some of his icy demeanor began to thaw. “Not sure that would work.” He sighed again while his shoulders slumped, his expression turning into something a bit wistful. “He means well, he does. It couldn’t have been easy for him, to suddenly have a fucked-up teenager show up out of nowhere and for all intents and purposes dumped on him.” Abram rubbed at his wrists for a moment before he forced his hands down at his sides. “I think he just gets confused at times, what all he’s supposed to do with me. That he forgets he’s not really raising me.”

Because Abram – _Nathaniel_ – had never needed anyone to raise him, not really. Had probably been more of a grown up at sixteen than most people at twenty-six, had known more about the real world than any teenager had any right. Hell, had known more at ten than any adult, thanks to that house of horrors in Baltimore. Nathan Wesninski had ensured that his son had never had any chance of a childhood, and Mary Hatford Wesninski had carried on the tradition, had raised her only child up on lies and outrunning death and pain and abuse.

There were times when Andrew wondered what it was like, to truly be a child. To know such things as _trust_ and _safety_ , to look at an adult and not have the first thought in your head be ‘how will they hurt me?’. His and Abram’s childhoods had been different in some aspects, but he was certain that they were similar enough in that regard. That they both had that innate distrust, that lurking sense of fear and internal cringing as they waited for the pain.

No wonder they got along so well.

Perhaps he was quiet too long, because Abram sighed again as he poured the hot water into the tea pot. “But he does mean well, and he does try. It’s not his fault that everything is all fucked up right now.”

Andrew stirred at that. “It’s not your fault, either.”

“No,” Abram admitted. “It’s my father’s, and the Moriyamas.” He gazed at Andrew, his expression resolved as he leaned against the counter. “I get that, I do. I just wish it was so easy to end things with them once and all.”

Leaving the last of his ice cream on the counter, Andrew went over to his idiot. “We’ll figure it out. They’re grasping at straws now, we just have to keep at them until they’ve run out of rope.”

Abram huffed at that as his right hand hovered over Andrew’s chest. “I think you’re mixing idioms there, _hon_ , but I understand.” He smiled a little as Andrew reached out to tug on his hair for being a snarky bastard. “I just hope they run out soon.”

“Soon enough,” Andrew promised. “We won’t let up.” He leaned in close enough to feel Abram’s breath on his face and then pushed away. “Pour me a cup, and then make me some dinner.” Bren had left without offering to pick them up some take-out, so he assumed that they were on their own for the night.

“Bloody hell,” Abram ground out as he slumped forward a little, his eyes shining with anger while he stared at Andrew eating the last bit of ice cream. “You’re even worse than Stuart,” he complained as he gave Andrew a rude gesture before turning to fetch a couple of mugs. After a spiked mug of tea was all but slammed down near Andrew, Abram went over to the fridge to dig through it for something to cook, which after checking the cabinets as well as his phone, turned out to be some sort of pasta with mushrooms. Andrew gave him a narrowed look as the bowl was set on the island.

“You made this.”

“Yes.”

“From what, ‘cooking for dummies’?”

“No, ‘poisoning for beginners’,” Abram told him with that chilling smile. “Have the first bite, _hon_.”

Now _that_ , Andrew could believe. “’You’re growing a bit too obvious, _babe_ ,” he said as he scooped some of the pasta onto his plate, then tried a little. It actually was good. “Seriously, how the hell?”

Abram sighed as he helped himself. “It only had a couple of ingredients and a lot of good reviews,” he admitted. “I do okay as long as it’s simple.”

That was taking a little too much credit, but Andrew had to admit that he’d done all right that night – that and it was kind of difficult to mess up what seemed to be boxed pasta, canned mushrooms, butter and olive oil, along with a few seasonings. “You do realize they win if we die from your shitty cooking?”

“Somehow, I’ll live with the disappointment as long as you go first.” Yet Andrew noticed a slight smile hovering on Abram’s lips when he continued to eat the pasta. When the meal was done, he went outside for a cigarette, then up to his room to read and answer some texts from Nicky and Renee before bed. Nicky, the pest, said something about Abby sending along a few things for Andrew to Germany since she didn’t know Andrew’s address, which left Andrew confused. What the hell could Abby want to send him? He hadn’t talked to her in years, since shortly after graduating from Palmetto State, and she’d already ‘thanked’ him for Bee through Nicky. There was no need to send him anything.

Some people didn’t know when to let go of the past – he was getting sick of its constant reminders, of it interfering in his life, his and Abram’s.

He probably had the damn call from Wesninski to thank for the nightmare about shadow figures taking a struggling Abram away while he couldn’t do anything, while his body was frozen and his armbands with the knives inside turned to dust. For a few minutes he debated staying in bed, but if the call had affected _him_ that badly….

Abram was sitting up in his own bed, and handed over a pillow and a thick blanket without saying a word, just a grateful smile on his face before he laid back down. Andrew debated telling his idiot to get a couch for the room, but the chair was comfortable enough and he soon fell back asleep.

The next few days were quiet, other than young kids who _seemed_ unaffiliated with any gangs causing trouble on a few different fronts (robbing protected shops, mugging or harassing important people, even a fumbled hit). Bren and Davis told Andrew how lucky he was that he got to sit at home and do nothing all day, Liz was apparently out for blood because one of the harassed people had been Liliya (Andrew had been right about Liz ensuring that her girlfriend was armed – that kid would be lucky if he managed to reproduce in the future, though Liliya wasn’t saying if she’d been going for that or an artery), and it would probably become a drinking game in the townhouse if they heard ‘stay the hell inside and out of trouble’ any more times.

It didn’t help matters when Lloyd showed up with another hard drive, along with furious Stuart and Davis carrying a box, while Andrew was studying his Russian. When he immediately went for his knives, Stuart shook his head and stepped in front of the MI6 agent. “No, he swore it wasn’t… that it’s all right,” Stuart insisted. “I told him that I’d cut off his fucking dick and make him eat it if it was another one of _those_ drives.”

“Which really, is a bit lacking in inventiveness when it comes to threats,” Lloyd drawled as he tapped his right index finger against the hard drive. “Now where is Abram?”

Andrew purposely gave the bastard a flat look while standing there without moving for several seconds, before he motioned for the three men to remain in the living room while he went to retrieve his idiot; Abram was in the office on a ‘conference’ call with Sabine and another French colleague, and probably would come out soon to see what was going on. In fact, Abram was wrapping up the call when Andrew entered the still mostly empty room.

“-parlez bientôt, au revoir,” he said before hanging up, his expression curious while he gazed over at Andrew. “Stuart’s here?”

His uncle had probably sent a text, Andrew supposed. “Yes, along with Lloyd. He has more files for you to translate,” he warned; when Abram’s expression became shuttered, he went over to the desk to slide his left hand around his idiot’s nape. “He claims it’s not like the others, so the moment it turns out bad, you let me know.” Let Andrew know so he could start eviscerating the spook.

“All right,” Abram agreed, his right hand reaching out for a moment to touch Andrew where the Hatford tattoo had been inked; he seemed to have realized that Andrew didn’t mind being touched there as long as it wasn’t unexpected, as long as Andrew could see the motion and it wasn’t one of his ‘bad’ times. That it was one of the ‘safer’ places, such as they were – like Abram with the back of his neck.

That settled between them, they went out to the living room, where Lloyd smiled with too much happiness to see Abram and Stuart took to frowning while eyeing Abram up and down as if to convince himself that his precious nephew was fine. “Abram! I’ve a bit of work for you to do, nothing too difficult,” Lloyd explained. “Something along the lines of what you did at the hotel not too long ago.”

“Let’s hope the sound quality is a bit better,” Abram said as he held out his right hand for the device. “Anything else?”

“No. Give a call to this number as soon as it’s done.” Lloyd handed over what looked to be a business card, the smile still on his face. “Like last time, the sooner, the better.”

“Yes,” Abram sighed as he accepted the card and the hard drive, then gave a polite nod to his uncle before returning to the office while Stuart all but shoved Lloyd toward the front door.

While he did that, Davis stepped toward Andrew. “This came for you – it’s from Micha. Well, sorta.” He shrugged with the large package held in his arms. “Someone named Abby Winfield sent it for you from the States but to your cousin’s address in Germany, and Micha’s people grabbed it and checked it out before routing it here.”

Andrew would have to let Nicky know before the pest starting haranguing the post office. “He told me she was sending something.” From the looks of the box, that was a lot of ‘something’; he motioned for Davis to set it down on the island, where he could check out the contents later. If Micha had cleared the box, he assumed it wouldn’t be another fucked up stuffed animal or something like that.

He studied it for a few seconds then told Stuart and Davis to leave – he wasn’t going to put up with them hovering around while Abram worked, and after a bit of grumbling from Stuart, they did.

Once they were gone, Andrew went back in the office to check on his idiot, and found Abram concentrating on what sounded to be several people talking in Russian – no screams, no sobbing, just something about money and family and… he had the impression that this was more along the lines of Lloyd ‘cleaning up’ and left after Abram gave him a slight nod. He decided to resume his own studies, and when he could no longer concentrate, worked out a bit more that day.

He was making some sandwiches for himself when Abram came out of the office, appearing tired but most likely from having to concentrate so much. “Lloyd will be here soon,” he said, while eyeing one of Andrew’s sandwiches with evident reserve.

Andrew handed one over, and after checking that there wasn’t anything in there other than peanut butter and jelly, Abram gave him a grateful smile. “Thank you.”

“How much longer do you think he’s going to be doing this?”

“Not sure, but he should have a good lead on the bank accounts and go-betweens now,” Abram told him. “Hopefully that’ll help him find most of the double-agents.”

‘Hopefully’. But as long as people had their own agenda and a ton of money, they would push to find the weak spots in an organization – be it criminal or legitimate, intelligence or a business. Andrew had a better understanding than most of the darker side of human nature, and he had no illusions on how that side usually won out when it came to greed and want.

They ate their late lunch without much talking – Abram asked about the box, Andrew told him about it and that he’d be making pizza for dinner, while they waited for the MI6 prick to return. The dishes had been cleared away and Abram nursing his second cup of tea when Lloyd did show up, his expression pleased once more.

“Imagine doing this all the time for your country,” he said as Abram gave him the hard drive.

“Imagine me never having to see you again,” Abram shot back before slamming the door in his face.

“Any chance you think his Russian problem and our Russian problem are connected?” Andrew asked as he picked up a knife so he could cut the tape sealing the box closed.

Abram paused to consider the problem, mug of tea held once more in his hands. “Possibly, but the impression I get from the recordings is that the group he’s dealing with is very well organized, very well… _connected_.” Judging from the emphasis there and Abram’s arched eyebrow, that implied government connections. “If they are tied together, we’re dealing with a junior branch.”

So probably not, or maybe the barest of connections – a loose association of sorts. Andrew put the topic aside for the time being as he opened the lids of the box to reveal a folded sheet of paper on top of the bubble wrap and packing peanuts.

The note was from Abby, and she stated that while Bee hadn’t left a formal will, she had indicated over the years that – should anything happen to her – there were certain things she wanted to go to specific people. That she thought some people might appreciate some things, or that she talked about certain items and then certain people a lot, so Abby had made the decision to send Bee’s belongings to those individuals whom Bee had associated them with so much.

Inside the box were some of the items that Bee had mentioned in reference to Andrew, so Abby had wanted him to have them – or at least have the chance to take what he wanted, and then he could return the rest to her. There were also some books from Bee’s collection that she wanted to send along, so if he could reach out to her or have Nicky do it, she would appreciate knowing if he would have them. She went on to stay that she missed Andrew and greatly appreciated what he’d done for Bee, for the funeral arrangement and the headstone, and that he knew that she and David were-

He crumbled the note then let it drop to the floor as he began to peel back the careful wrapping, to reveal each of the crystalline figures that Bee has spent years collecting and then had displayed in her office, that he had added to during his years at Palmetto State. The figures he had stared at so many times during their weekly sessions, that he had picked up and held cradled in his hands when he had sought out a distraction from the awful memories inside of him, delicate glass figures he had almost broken when he had struggled with the rage _barely_ contained inside. Yet he’d always set them back down whole – usually he would mess with their carefully arranged pattern, would deliberately move them about when he’d known that Bee would have to spend time rearranging them in their proper order and proper distance apart because it was the only safe outlet he had.

They were all there, and at the bottom of the box were two mugs, were the one that Bee had always drank her hot chocolate from and the one with the grumpy face which she’d always set aside for Andrew, and a new tin of Bee’s favorite hot chocolate. Andrew’s hands trembled for some reason when he set them on the counter as well, as he peeled off the plastic ring sealing the hot chocolate then opened it so he could breathe in the scent of the rich, sweet drink.

He sat there for what felt to be several minutes, the tin of hot chocolate in his hands and the delicate, sparkling animals spread out before him, and felt the urge to… to what? To grab Bee’s mug and smash the ridiculous creatures? To box them up and send them back?

Bee wasn’t coming back. Bee, who for some reason wanted Andrew to have these things.

Bee, who Andrew actually missed. Who he wanted to just sit down with and have a damn cup of hot chocolate and mock and tell her all the insane things going on in his life and… and….

Dammit, when had he counted on Bee not going away? When had he counted on Bee so much?

He picked up a crystal bee and held it in his hands for a few seconds before he set it back down on the counter, rubbed at his face and then got up to make some more hot water, the grumpy face mug and tin of hot chocolate held in his hands.

“Do you want some?” he asked Abram while he held out the tin.

“Uhm… all right,” Abram said from his spot at the island, sounding a bit uncertain, then he began to replace all of the packing material in the box while Andrew stood by the hot water kettle. “What… what are these?”

“They were Bee’s,” he said. “Stupid shit she had in her office.”

“Ah.” Abram picked up a turtle to look at it for a moment before he set it down with care. “We could always put them in the office here, unless you want them up in your room.”

Andrew thought about that for a moment. “The office is fine.” He’d need a new shelf for them in his room, so they’d be fine in the office for now. Besides, he’d have to see about the books Abby wanted to send him, along with anything else.

Abram began to loosely repack the figurines so they could be taken into the office while Andrew fixed their hot chocolate, even adding whipped cream to the drinks even though Bee hadn’t done that when she’d made it in the office. He watched on with some amusement when Abram took a sip and then grimaced at the drink’s sweetness.

“Why are you even trying?” Andrew asked as Abram attempted it again, with similar results.

“It meant something to you, didn’t it? Drinking it with her?” Abram stared into the mug as if he could wish the contents to disappear.

“It meant I had something decent to drink during my mandatory psych sessions,” he told his idiot. “I just happen to like hot chocolate.”

Abram looked at him in a manner that made it clear that he didn’t believe him, but continued to sip the sweet beverage. “She obviously didn’t fix those denial issues of yours.”

Andrew gave him an even look for several seconds then dumped the rest of his hot chocolate into the snarky bastard’s mug. “Just for that, you have to drink all of it.”

“But-”

“No, all of it,” he insisted.

“But I don’t even-”

“Hush,” Andrew said as he pushed the mug closer to his idiot, “now drink. You need to learn that there are consequences for your words.”

“You’re telling this to a _translator_ ,” Abram said, his expression incredulous. “You know what? I’ve always heard it’s best to humor crazy people, so fine.” He picked up the mug and started to drink it down, his expression one of misery. “Oh… oh god,” he gasped once all of the hot chocolate was gone. “I think I’m going to be sick.”

Andrew had to admit that he was impressed – well, except for how Abram was now groaning and hunched over, as if he truly was about to throw up. “You’re pathetic.”

“I’m _something_ , to put up with this,” Abram muttered while he closed his eyes and rested his chin on his arms folded on top of the island. “Ooh, just going to stay here for a while.”

“You have until Bren shows up with our groceries to start dinner,” Andrew warned him, and reached over to give a gentle tug to his idiot’s hair before he picked up the box of packed figurines so he could go arrange them in the office.

They looked… there was a couple of shelves for them in the room, an alcove with recessed lights that allowed the figurines to sparkle, where Andrew took his time setting them an equal distance apart. He was almost finished when Bren finally showed up, and chose to complete the task rather than go out to talk to the man. Once the figurines were all arranged, he stood in front of them for several minutes before he texted Nicky to tell him that he’d gotten the package from Abby and to pass on to the woman that he wanted whatever books of Bee’s and anything else that she decided to send to him.

Nicky was quick to reply back that he’d wondered what had happened to it and was glad that it hadn’t got lost in the mail, but was smart enough for once to not ask too many questions. He told Andrew to pass on ‘hello’ to Abram, and if they couldn’t get together for the Easter holiday then maybe they could do something later in April.

Andrew went into the kitchen to find a recovered Abram starting on the pizzas, and had some spiked hot chocolate during dinner. Abram teased him some more about having blood that was made up of half sugar, and they watched some television before going their separate ways at night. It was a good way to end the day, considering what all had happened in it.

There wasn’t another call from Nathan Wesninski, but there was a text containing two attachments sent to Abram’s phone a couple of days later; after checking them for viruses, a leery Abram downloaded them and sat there without any visible emotion on his face as he watched them. One was an old, transferred video clip from about twenty years ago, of a younger Nathan smiling for the camera while a quiet Mary remained in the background, her face a careful mask that Andrew had seen all too often over his years of foster care, had seen in the mirror – when someone was trying to pretend that everything was all right but couldn’t quite force themselves to smile. Hovering at her side was a solemn Abram – no, was _Nathaniel_ – much too quiet and still for a young child, all huge blue eyes which were the only part of him which really moved as they darted about, always watching the adults around him, always aware of what was going on.

Andrew didn’t think the dark smudge on Nathaniel’s right cheek was dirt, or that he was wearing a long-sleeved, high collar shirt because he was cold, considering that many of the men were wearing short-sleeved shirts. The video ended with a huge, dark-haired man backhanding Nathaniel to the ground when he wouldn’t move away from Mary.

“I think… I think it was my dad’s birthday party,” Abram said as he stared at the paused image. “DiMaccio was telling my mom to get the cake for him, but she didn’t want to do it.”

DiMaccio – the man whom Jamie had killed a few years ago. Andrew stared as well while he told himself there was one less person he had to take care of, and watched as Abram clicked on the other link. That video was more recent, was of an unknown man screaming in pain as an obscured figure hacked at him with a meat cleaver. Abram only watched it for about a minute before stopping it.

“It’s my father, and I’m assuming one of our people,” he said, his voice, hoarse. “I’ll send it to Jamie, perhaps she’ll know.” He dropped his phone onto his lap then ran his fingers through his hair. “I think the message is clear enough.”

Andrew didn’t ask how Abram knew the masked figure was his father – from what Abram had told him, his friend had seen the man in action more than enough during those nightmarish ten years to know what the Butcher looked like even with his face digitally obscured. “Don’t let him rattle you into doing something stupid,” Andrew warned.

That wrung a weak laugh from Abram. “Like what? I know better than to expect mercy from the bastard, and all that he’s doing now is reminding me of why I don’t want to end up in his hands.” He shuddered for a moment before shaking his head. “Why can’t we just go away, hmm? Somewhere with no phones or internet or a way for anyone to bother us?”

Andrew scoffed at that even as he picked up Abram’s phone and handed it back to him. “You’ll go crazy in two days. No, you’ll drive me crazy in a day, and then I’ll kill you.”

That got him a faint smile, even if it was tinged with pain when Abram accepted the phone. “Probably, but still, that one day would be nice.” He started tapping away, most likely letting Jamie know about the message or sending the files to Jason. “I hate it when everyone starts freaking out over us and fussing.”

The idiot should be used to it by then. “It has grown exceedingly boring.” Also, Andrew missed his owed dinners.

It didn’t take long for Jamie to call, and Abram put her on speakerphone so Andrew got to share in the pain of her ‘fussing’. After the expected ‘be careful’ and all, she had some news to tell them. “We just found out that Tetsuji was admitted into the hospital, which might be why Nathan or one of his people are trying to scare you.”

“How bad is it?” Abram asked while he accepted the glass of gin which Andrew handed him.

“We don’t exactly know, but I don’t think they’re planning the funeral just yet.”

“Kengo was in and out several times before he died,” Andrew said. “It took a couple of months at the end, that we knew about, and I’m sure they probably tried to keep it out of the public as long as they could.” He was certain that the Moriyamas had wanted to avoid any signs of weakness that they could, to allow for as smooth a transition for Ichiro. Tetsuji wasn’t the head of the family, but they would still want to cover up any potential ‘weakness’.

“Add to that the fact that Edgar Allen still needs to find a successor for him, and that there’s still some rumblings over how they run the Exy program, rumblings that haven’t gone away,” Jamie agreed. “I’ve a source who’s telling me that they’re doing their best to downplay Tetsuji’s illness until Kevin Day and the others are released from rehab, hoping that they can provide testimony that their time as Ravens had nothing to do with their addictions.” That prompted a loud scoff from Andrew. “Yes, I know, but I get the impression that the university’s president doesn’t really want to face a huge scandal if he can help it. The Ravens bring in a lot of revenue and publicity, after all. What’s Edgar Allen without them?”

And Renee wondered why Andrew didn’t have more faith in humanity, more faith in general. Oh, he had some ‘faith’ all right, just not in people ever doing the ‘right’ thing. Only in doing whatever would satisfy their own base needs, screw whatever was good for anyone else.

“Speaking about Day, he should be getting out soon. What’s happening there?” Andrew stared at the phone while he waited for an answer, a glass of whiskey in his left hand.

Jamie sighed on the other end of the line. “Not much else since the last time, to be honest. He seems to have dried up somewhat, which is a surprise, to be holding it together, but he’s not talking to our people. He’s not talking to anyone in the facility, to be honest. Some of the counselors aren’t happy with him, but I’m sure he’ll be out in a few days.”

Andrew was willing to bet his McLaren and a month-long vacation with Nicky and Erik that Day would be out the second that the thirty days were up, even if he was drinking mouthwash and hand sanitizer at that point.

Abram glanced over at him and when Andrew remained quiet, busy drinking his whiskey, leaned toward the phone. “Thank you, for the update. If anything… well, we’ll send along anything else that comes through.”

“I hope not, little cousin. Seems to me that the prick has enough problems on his hands that he should leave you alone for a while.”

There was a sad, slight smile on Abram’s gorgeous face just then. “Yeah, maybe. Don’t work too hard, all right? Make Ally do something for once.”

That prompted a laugh from Jamie. “I thought you assured me that you didn’t want to take over the family business, Ram. Don’t go sabotaging things on me, and I’ll wrap things up for the day in a bit.” She ended the call after that.

Andrew gave his idiot a pointed look when Abram set the phone aside. “We’re not taking over the family business?”

“Jamie said if I really wanted to, all I had to do was prove that I could do a better job as a leader than her.” Abram propped his chin up on his right fist as he gazed at Andrew with heavy-lidded eyes. “You willing to put in all that work?”

There was no need to consider that proposition. “No,” Andrew said without any reservations. “Though the pay might be a bit better.”

“Your life, so hard,” Abram mocked while he reached for his phone as if to play that one violin music file again, but once he touched it, the slight smile on his face faltered. “Right.”

He probably was going to think of those videos, about the Hatford employee killed by his father, one of several, and all those years of abuse whenever he looked at his phone now. At least, he would for the next few days, until something else happened to make him feel guilty, to remind him about some other nightmare from his past.

Andrew was familiar with triggers.

So he got up from the stool and went to stand in front of his idiot, to hold up his hands but not touch when he wasn’t certain if Abram had been pushed to the point when things were _that_ bad. If he had been, then Andrew would fix him some tea and go start a fire before putting on a movie. “Yes or no?”

Abram took a deep breath while he looked up at Andrew. “Yes,” he said while he reached for Andrew’s wrists, his hold loose, and pulled Andrew’s hands toward his head. Taking the hint, Andrew threaded his fingers through the tousled auburn hair he’d grown addicted to touching, to playing with, to seeing the way the light shifted through the strands and changed it from red to gold to orange depending on how he twisted it about.

Funny, him being drawn to bright colors after all, to finding a fire that he could hold, that wouldn’t burn him after convincing himself that he wanted nothing, that all he would ever _have_ was _nothing_. Abram was that fire, was that element which burned everyone else who tried to touch, slashed them with silver and scorned them with indifference. Except for Andrew.

“Yes,” Abram repeated, when all Andrew did was stand there and stare down at him. “It’s okay.”

Only this beautiful, oblivious idiot, Andrew thought as he leaned in for a kiss, one that started out rough and demanding despite the gentle hold on Abram’s hair; he would have pulled away, but Abram was just as passionate, just as fervent as he rose from the stool with his mouth pressed hard against Andrew’s. Their tongues slid against each other’s, teeth clicked together and lips ached from the ferocity of it before Andrew pulled away to pant, “upstairs.”

“All right.” Abram closed his eyes and sighed when Andrew’s fingers let go of his hair, then turned around so they could head for the stairs; he went to go to his bedroom and was surprised when Andrew tugged him up the next flight of stairs instead. “Uhm, okay?”

It was the first time Andrew had allowed him in his room since they’d moved in, he realized as he opened his door. Abram had respected his need for boundaries, had allowed Andrew to come into his room yet remembered Andrew being so insistent on having his own personal space.

The bedroom was similar to Abram’s, was spacious with large windows, had the queen-sized bed and a chair across the room, as well as a large dresser. He had more bookshelves, but only because he had more personal books than Abram, and the color scheme was different, was a pale blue as opposed to grey – which now made sense, all the grey around the place and the previous apartment.

Abram glanced around for a moment but didn’t stare, as if mindful of Andrew’s privacy. “No cage, so that’s good.”

“You and that mouth,” Andrew said as he pushed the idiot toward his bed. “I warned you about it.”

“I think you’re just going to have to learn to deal with it,” Abram said with a cheeky grin. “Doubt I’m going to change at this point.”

“Don’t make it a challenge,” Andrew warned. “You won’t win.”

“Oh, really?” Abram’s grin widened as he pulled his long-sleeved t-shirt over his head. “That might be fun.”

“Remember that when you lose.” Andrew removed his shirt as well, and at Abram’s questioning nod, began to shed the rest of his clothes. Once he was naked, save for the armbands, he motioned toward the bed. “Above the waist, but not the neck.”

Abram appeared a little annoyed about that. “That takes some of the fun out of it.” Yet he stretched out on Andrew’s bed, and even parted his legs so Andrew could kneel between them. “What do you have in mind?”

Andrew almost asked him why he thought there was some sort of plan for things, but they were in Andrew’s bedroom, on his bed, so he must have something in mind. “You can say ‘no’ at any time,” he reminded his idiot as he reached into the nightstand for the bottle of lube he’d gotten for himself for those rare times he’d felt frustrated enough to do anything. When want for a certain oblivious idiot had made him feel things he hadn’t for another person, and now he wanted to do something new, to take things in a direction he’d never gone before. “But I want to try something.”

For a moment Abram appeared apprehensive, because ‘you can say no’ wasn’t exactly a phrase to fill one with confidence, was it? Especially when he saw the bottle that Andrew put on the bed near them. Then he leaned forward to drape his arms over Andrew and kiss him, that time gently, the gesture deep yet lacking the desperation from earlier.

“Yes,” he said after he trailed his mouth along Andrew’s chin, mindful not to skate too low and touch Andrew’s sensitive neck. “It’s all right.”

The idiot didn’t even know what ‘it’ was yet, and he still told Andrew ‘yes’ – there was such a thing as too much trust. Still, Andrew pressed a hand to the center of Abram’s chest and pushed him back to lie down, and followed him with his mouth latched on to Abram’s neck and his hands stroking along the idiot’s sides. He could feel the firm ridges of muscles and the thin lines of scars beneath the fingers, could feel each inhale and exhale, each twitch as he made Abram moan and gasp, as he made Abram writhe beneath and rock up against him.

When he found himself grinding down against his friend, he took a deep breath and forced himself to sit up, to move away, Abram’s fingers digging in to his shoulders for a moment before trailing down his arms. Passion dark eyes watched him as he reached for the lube and poured some onto the fingers of his right hand, as he smoothed it around until they were coated and slick.

“Is it still yes?” he asked as he pushed at Abram’s left leg until it bent.

“Yes,” Abram said, his tone earnest and no trace of doubt on his face.

Andrew grabbed at one of the pillows thrown aside and shoved it beneath Abram’s hips, who helped by raising them a little, and then stilled for a moment before sliding his hand along the curves of Abram’s ass.

He knew what to do in principal. He’d never really had it done to him, past a crude finger or two. He’d never had the desire to do it to another person, to take sex to _this_ point, before Abram. Just the thought of it had repulsed him in the past, but as he pushed past the initial resistance with one finger, he found an odd emotion welling up inside of him while he watched the expressions on Abram’s face – a mix of anticipation and accomplishment as that reserve gave way to something else.

“That’s… ah,” Abram breathed out as Andrew twisted his finger and curled it, the same time he stroked along Abram’s semi-hard cock. “I think it’s oh- ah!” Abram’s head slammed back onto the mattress and his cock grew hard beneath Andrew’s tight grip as a shiver ran through his lean body.

“Hmm? Just okay?” Andrew curled his finger again in search of that spot and felt a spark of satisfaction at watching Abram react once again; he wanted to know that he could do this, that he could make it enjoyable for his friend, could make it about _Abram_ and not taking what Andrew wanted _._

“Oh hell,” Abram wheezed; Andrew fingered him a few more seconds before pulling out a little then pushing another one in as well. There was a low moan from Abram while he did that, a slight bucking of the idiot’s hips, and then another sharp gasp.

“I’m going to make you come like this,” Andrew said, his voice even despite the fact that he was hard from the sight of Abram spread out before him, so open and trusting, that Abram was allowing him so much control. “Yes?”

“Yes, yes, _fuck yes_ ,” Abram panted as his hips jerked once more, a hand buried in his hair and the other fisted in the sheets. “Ple- yes!” A sheen of sweat made his body glisten as he writhed on the bed, as he gave himself to the pleasure that Andrew made him feel.

Part of Andrew wondered what it would feel like to pull out his fingers and thrust inside Abram, to feel those long legs wrapped around him, Abram beneath him and around him as he gave in to the need, as he lost himself to the pleasure. Just the image in his head made him bite his bottom lip to keep from moaning out loud, his own hips bucking forward and his hard cock bobbing from the motion while Abram ground back on his fingers.

“Fuh-huh… I’m… I’m coming, Andrew,” Abram gasped, his eyelashes fluttering as his head thrashed back and forth, face flushed and lips parted.

“Look at me,” Andrew told him, and had to repeat the words before Abram’s face turned toward him. He twisted his fingers again and felt Abram’s entire body shudder, felt Abram’s cock twitch in his grip and warmth pulse over his fingers while his name was gasped once more, and all the while Abram’s eyes were locked on his own.

He rocked forward a little to rub his cock against Abram’s bent leg, a faint groan slipping free at the wonderful friction, then pulled his fingers free so he could stretch out on top of his idiot. Abram enveloped him with trembling arms while he thrust in an almost desperation, telling him ‘yes’ and saying his name while brushing dry lips against his forehead and cheeks, while Andrew held on to his shoulders with a fierce tightness and rocked his hips a few more times until he came.

His orgasm left him feeling more drained than usual, tired but not in a bad way; it felt good, to lie there on top of Abram despite the mess and the sweat and that his idiot was a bony bastard who really should eat a few sweets. It felt good, the way that Abram’s fingers combed through Andrew’s hair and along his back, enough that he allowed it for a couple of minutes before remembering that his hands were filthy and he’d need to replace the duvet cover and they still had to eat dinner.

“Come on, shower,” he told Abram, who groaned when Andrew moved to stand up.

“But it was so nice,” Abram whined as he followed Andrew into the bathroom, and then he took to glaring. “My towels. Those are all of my towels.” He motioned to the towels hanging up next the shower and folded on the rack near it. “I’ve had to ask Liliya for new ones, since you’ve nearly gotten all of mine.”

Then what was the problem? They both would have plenty of towels that way. “Ask her to get me some washcloths, too,” Andrew told him as he turned on the water. “And whatever sheets you have.” He was willing to bet they had to be better than his, judging from the towels.

Abram pinched the bridge of his nose for a moment before he shook his head. “I’d tell you to fuck off, but then you’d just steal my flannels and bedding, wouldn’t you?”

All Andrew had to do was give the idiot a flat look, which made him sigh as he stepped into the shower. “Fine, you larcenous prat, I’ll do it. Though what’s wrong with your stuff?”

“Did Liliya buy it?” Andrew asked as he reached for the soap so he could wash up.

“I… don’t think so.” Abram appeared to think about it. “Probably was whoever decorated the place – she ordered all of mine after she caught me buying stuff one day when I was at Harrods picking up a few things before meeting with her for new clothes.” His expression became rather chagrined just then. “I don’t understand the big deal about thread counts and where they grow the damn cotton and things like that, but she was very insistent.”

Somehow, Andrew wasn’t surprised, not after hearing how Abram had lived while on the run with his mother. It had been a far cry from the fancy house in Baltimore as well as the upscale apartment and extravagant townhouse in London, and it was clear that those years had left an indelible mark on the idiot.

Whereas it was the opposite with Andrew; he’d lived in poor conditions himself, but it hadn’t beaten a frugal mindset into him, it made him determined to not have to endure such things again if he could avoid it. It didn’t mean he’d reduce himself to poverty to indulge himself, but if he could afford or manage towels that weren’t scratchy or a bed that was so comfortable that he never wanted to leave it? By all means, he would indulge.

“You don’t seem to understand a lot of things, do you, _babe_?”

“I certainly don’t understand why I had to be attracted to a prat like you, _hon_ ,” Abram shot back with a sweet tone and an even sweeter smile.

Andrew reached for the shower nozzle and soaked his idiot in the face for that, then slipped out while Abram was still wiping water and hair out of his eyes. Call it petty, but Andrew never promised to fight fair – plus, it was amusing, to hear the various languages shouted at him as he left the bathroom, busy toweling himself dry with his stolen goods.

He’d gotten dressed and the bed remade (he missed his chance to point out that _he_ didn’t issue threats over messing up his bedding) when a sulking Abram came out wrapped in a towel to fetch his clothes, and sighed when Andrew made sure to reclaim ‘his’ towel. “Really?”

“Call Liliya,” Andrew said as he went over to put both towels down the laundry chute, where they’d end up in a separate bin for the cleaning staff to handle. It wasn’t as if Abram couldn’t sneak in to steal them back… except Abram was respecting Andrew’s boundaries. Except that it seemed to be one of those things that Abram raised a little fuss over but didn’t really care about in the end, because he knew that something like towels weren’t that important, that it was another way for Andrew to get him out of his head and give him something to vent about should he need a reason to let go of some tension. That all he really had to do was ask if he truly wanted them back.

Once they were dressed, they went downstairs so Andrew could call Bren and place an order for Indian food; he made some hot chocolate and Abram had some tea while they waited.

“Ah, that was… I know you don’t like it when I thank you, but… oh hell, I don’t know what I want to say here after all,” Abram mumbled as he stared into his tea.

Andrew merely shrugged while he sipped his hot chocolate, willing for the conversation to end – he didn’t need for there to be another ‘I think this is what needs to be done’ discussion just then, not when he’d tried so hard earlier, dammit. It could wait another day.

Abram bit into his full bottom lip as he wrapped both hands around his mug. “But, uhm, it was good.” Color spread across his cheekbones, at least from what Andrew could see since he ducked his head some more and his hair fell forward to hide his face. “I’m not… that was a first. Ah, a first for someone doing _that_. Just that. To me.”

All right, it seemed they were talking about it anyway. “It was a first for me, too,” Andrew admitted in hopes to speed things along.

“Really?” Abram lifted his head, a tentative smile on his face. “Because it didn’t seem… well, it was good.” His blush grew stronger. “I, ah, I liked it. Oh bloody hell.” He rubbed at his face with his left hand.

Maybe there wasn’t going to be a ‘this needs to change’ talk for once. “I could tell,” Andrew said, his tone more than a little dry, before he sipped his hot chocolate.

“Yes, I’m sure you could.” Abram frowned at his tea then took a deep breath. “Anyway, I liked it, and I just wanted you to know… maybe… maybe we could try more sometime.” He didn’t look at Andrew while he spoke, and his face was the brightest that Andrew had ever seen it. “You know, you and me.”

Andrew set his mug down while he considered what Abram had just said. “Me and you.” Was he talking about…?

Abram mumbled something in Japanese for a moment. “That is… you doing more than just… uhm, fingering.” He finally looked up at Andrew. “Only if you want to, that is. I told you that I’m clean, at least according to the last test.”

The idiot _was_ saying what Andrew thought he’d been alluding to, all right. For a moment, Andrew didn’t know if he wanted to kiss him or lock him away for the sake of Andrew’s sanity, and after several seconds’ internal struggle, reached over to pull Abram in for a brief kiss. “We’ll get there when we’re both ready.”

That seemed to calm down some of Abram’s embarrassment. “Okay,” he said with a more genuine smile. “I just, I wanted you to know I’ve thought about it with you, and I feel it’s okay. With _you._ That’s why I said ‘yes’ earlier.”

“All right.” Andrew waited for Abram to say anything else, and only received a wider smile before his idiot had some more tea; he took that to mean that Abram was leaving it to him, for that ‘when _we’re_ both ready’.

They had talked a little when they’d started things, back in Cologne, when they’d only been kissing and mapping out boundaries. Andrew had gone through complete physicals both at Palmetto State and for work, so he knew that he was clean. Abram insisted that he’d always practiced safe ‘sex’ with Jain and that Jamie made him get tested regularly – she might not have been able to stop the ‘relationship’, but she refused to allow her cousin to suffer any more consequences because of it than necessary. Also, it made sense that Jain, as a married man living in the closet, wouldn’t take any excessive risks. As far as Andrew knew, Abram had been tested after his last encounter with the Chinese man, and so far the results were still negative.

So that particular risk wasn’t there for them when they took the next step, and Jain wasn’t part of the picture anymore. For most people, that would be enough, except Andrew and Abram weren’t most people. Over the last few months, they’d slowly built up a lot of trust between each other, had worked on various issues. Andrew could honestly say that he wanted Abram, wanted someone in _that_ way, and was coming to feel that he could trust _himself_ with that want. It also seemed that for the first time, Abram wanted a person and was making a choice in what he did with them.

Andrew thought about what they’d done earlier and how he didn’t feel anything negative over it, how there was no disgust or anger at himself. He knew better than to think he was ready to do what Abram had suggested just yet, but it helped, knowing that Abram hadn’t gone along with things just because he wanted Andrew to be happy.

Andrew remembered something that Bee had told him once, a few months before he had graduated – that history was full of people proving that the impossible was possible. He knew it was her way of telling him to not give up hope, to not be so negative and hold on to the belief that he’d never get better, that he’d never find someone who could put up with him and his issues. But would even she imagine someone like Abram?

He didn’t know if he believed the impossible had happened, but he’d best keep a certain idiot around until he was sure. Just in case.            

*******

Abram sat on the loveseat next to Andrew while they watched the newscaster on the sports channel put on a blatantly false somber air as he discussed how Kevin Day had been released from the rehab facility; there was footage shown on the upper half of the screen of a grave Kevin being escorted by a concerned Riko who waved away the hovering reporters, probably talking about how Kevin needed some space and putting on a show about being Kevin's properly protective best friend slash foster brother.

Riko was quite the accomplished actor, and managed to keep the left side of his face to the camera for most of the footage.

Andrew watched the screen for another minute or two, his expression bored but eyes intent, before he turned away. "The Foxes probably have a pool started on how fast he relapses."

Abram remembered his friend talking about the NCAA team's propensity to bet on anything and everything, and winced at that particular topic; he could understand why there wasn't much love for the Foxes toward Kevin Day after the way he tore into the team any time a reporter brought up the striker’s university days, but still, wasn't that a bit much? "What would you put down?" he asked as he hitched his legs up onto the seat and wrapped his arms around them, curious about his friend’s take on the situation.

Things were quiet while Andrew seemed to consider the question. "If the rehab failed, then I'd say he'll be back at it by tonight, especially since you know Riko's going to be after him about Edgar Allen. If he made an effort to clean up and paid attention to what Jamie's people were telling him... for a coward, he can be surprisingly determined,” Andrew said while checking his phone for something, appearing unconcerned over the outcome even though Abram knew that his friend was still hoping for some revenge for Betsy Dobson. “He might actually make a go of sobriety... at least until things get too real."

"Hmm." Abram paid attention to the program a little longer, which had moved on to other ex-Ravens players, and wasn't surprised when Andrew turned it off after another minute or two; his focus was Kevin Day, after all. "We'll find out soon enough, won't we?"

"I suppose we will." Andrew stared at the blank screen for a few seconds and then stood up. "Classic Day, you don't usually find out what it'll be until it's down to the wire."

"I think I'm seeing why you didn't want to babysit him for more than a few years," Abram said as he followed his friend into the kitchen, where of course Andrew went for what had to be his second ice cream pint of the day.

"No, I decided to babysit an idiot who doesn't know when to shut up instead." Andrew gave him an unimpressed look while he fetched a spoon from the one drawer. "I don't see it as an improvement, before you ask."

"You wouldn't - I hear that a constant diet of sugar impairs the judgment."

"Oh, there's going to be some impairment going on," Andrew warned as he brandished the spoon in the air for a moment. "That eager to see your liver?"

"Like you're going to stop eating your precious ice cream long enough to do any eviscerating," Abram sneered as he started a new pot of tea. "It must be so difficult, to have your innate laziness get in the way of so much potential homicide."

Andrew regarded him with seeming mildness for a few seconds. "I can always make exceptions, _babe_."

"Now I'm feeling the love, _hon_." Abram hummed a little. "Oh, wait, that's the loathing, sorry."

"Same difference," Andrew said before another spoonful of ice cream.

Of course. Abram smiled as he added tea leaves to the waiting pot, and made some toast for himself while the water steeped. He sighed in exasperation when Andrew swiped a slice once it was buttered, but really, he wasn't that surprised considering the glutton's appetite. What did surprise him was how Andrew remained in such good shape with all of the sugary food he ate.

The news about Kevin Day leaving rehab was the only excitement they had in several days – there were no menacing phone calls or text messages, no mysterious emails and not even any more visits from Lloyd. Jamie and Stuart still insisted that Abram and Andrew remain near the townhouse, but they’d been ‘allowed’ out to dinner the night before, albeit to one of the higher end restaurants in town, where Jamie had felt there was less of a chance of anything happening. Abram hadn’t complained since it still meant a chance to get out of the house for a few hours.

He was surprised to find himself getting bored with having nothing to do but work and help Andrew practice his Russian, but the weather was turning nice and he was used to traveling once or twice a month. Despite having the spacious place to move about in, plenty of documents to translate and a roommate… it was still easy to feel trapped after a few weeks of being ‘locked down’. Especially when he and Andrew still had days when they needed some space and time to themselves, despite all the ‘yeses’ and how far Abram was willing to move forward with Andrew. How it no longer felt so much about control, but how good Andrew could make him feel, and vice versa.

A couple of days after the news of Kevin Day’s release, Abram found himself staring out the french doors at the back garden, needing some sort of distraction from work, from the thoughts in his head and how the townhouse felt so small all of a sudden. From how he felt all too aware of where Andrew was at all times, and how he didn’t want to push, didn’t want to ask ‘yes or no’ when he felt so jittery and confused and out of sorts because he knew Andrew probably would say ‘no’ and be upset at being asked in the first place. Would be upset at Abram asking when it was more about a mental escape than really wanting Andrew – and Abram knew he would have every right to feel that way.

So he nearly jumped when he felt a warm hand on the back of his neck. “The door opens,” Andrew said, his deep, quiet voice thick with sarcasm.

“I know that,” Abram sighed. “I just… ah, what are we going to do with it? The garden, I mean?”

Instead of answering him, Andrew walked away; while Abram watched, he put on his pair of shoes and picked up Abram’s runners, which he dropped next to Abram when he came back. Then he opened the doors and went outside.

Slipping on his shoes, Abram hurried to join him, and smiled when he was offered a cigarette after a moment. “So, your thoughts?”

“Have Jamie find someone to take care of it,” Andrew said without any hesitation. “I’m not doing yardwork.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Abram held his cigarette cupped in his right hand to keep the light breeze from blowing it out as he walked around; it was a fair-sized garden, considering that they were in London, with a high fence all around to afford them some privacy and a few small trees, with some unruly hedges in need of trimming as well. He thought a couple of them might be holly but he wasn’t certain, there were dormant flower beds as well, and a large tarp not quite in the center of it all. “Don’t you Americans like to hold cook-outs and all?”

Andrew noticed the tarp as well and headed toward it. “I don’t have a problem starting a nice fire or two, given something to burn. Or _someone_ , _babe_.”

“Did someone not have their usual kilos of sugar today, _hon_? Those withdrawal signs I’m hearing?” Abram smiled when he was given a rude gesture in return, then frowned when Andrew began to pull the tarp from what appeared to be a hole in the ground. “Huh, did you start digging graves already? I take back all those lazy comments.”

“Amusing,” Andrew drawled while he gave Abram an unimpressed look. “Someone else did this, and it’s not a grave.”

“Oh. _Oh_ , right.” Abram stared at what had turned out to be an empty fish pond, now that Andrew had pulled back the tarp far enough for him to see more of it. “Ah, I hear that water features are very relaxing,” he said as he stared at the large empty… well, pond. A hole in the ground, except not exactly, since it had pebbles and various other things in it, just not water and fish and whatever else one needed for a pond. What _was_ needed for a fish pond?

“So is alcohol,” Andrew stated as he shoved the tarp a little more to the side with his left foot, then looked up at Abram. “Don’t tell me you’re considering the thing,” he said in his ‘you’re a blithering idiot’ tone.

“Well, it’s there, isn’t it? What do we need to do, other than… okay, what do we need to have someone else do to make it work?” he admitted, because yes, he was going to make a call and have someone else take care of the thing, just like he was going to have someone else take care of the whole back garden. “It’s either that or they’re going to have to take the thing out and fill it up.”

“Then you’re stuck dealing with it,” Andrew reminded him, before he snorted in derision. “All right, Bren or someone else is stuck dealing with it, but you’ll still have to feed the damn things.”

“Why not, I already feed you,” Abram said with a smile, which earned him a particularly sour look. “Come on, won’t it be nice to come out here together some mornings or nights with a mug of tea and sit down to watch them swim about?” He could imagine it in his head, he thought as he slid his hands into the opposite sleeves of his large jumper, could see the two of them enjoying a rare moment of peace on the warmer days after breakfast or while the sun went down, sitting in silence while feeding the fish and nursing their drinks.

It wasn’t anything he’d had ever thought to do, to _have_ , all those years while on the run or in Baltimore, or even in the old flat, but being with Andrew made him think of a lot of new things, made him _do_ a lot of new things. Things like talk back to his father, stop dyeing his hair, and try to figure out what to do with a damn garden.

“You have very odd ideas of what is ‘nice’,” Andrew muttered, but he gave up on kicking the tarp to come over to stand by Abram. “Hmm, aren’t carp bottom feeders?” He seemed to think on that as he combed the fingers of his right hand through Abram’s hair. “Maybe they’ll come in handy if we need to get rid of some ‘evidence’,” he said before he tugged Abram forward for a brief kiss. “And you’re still stuck with looking after them.”

“I don’t think they work like that, and I suspected it,” Abram said with a slight laugh. “Really, what about the rest of it?” He smiled at his friend while Andrew gazed out over the garden, Andrew’s large, calloused hand warm on the back of his neck.

“Have Jamie find someone who can fix up the-“

Andrew was cut off by the sound of Abram’s phone pinging; Abram tugged his hands free of his sleeves so he could retrieve it from the back pocket of his jeans then grimaced when he noticed the text from his cousin – the other one. The annoying one. “Ally wants something,” he explained as he tapped on the screen, then frowned while he read. “The idiot said he’s done something to his laptop but he doesn’t want Jamie or Jason to know, so he’s asking if I can bring over some software I have.”

That earned him an arch look. “Does this happen a lot?”

Abram sighed as he texted back. “More than it should, to be honest, maybe once or twice a year.” He grimaced again. “One would think he’d figure out which sites to avoid by now. At least he isn’t allowed to bring home anything important to the business or it would be in shambles.”

“Wonderful.” Andrew’s deep voice was thick with derision as he headed back inside, with Abram following. “Why does the family put up with him again?”

“Hope springs eternal, or something like that.” The shame was, Ally had gotten better in the last couple of years. It just was, his ‘better’ still drove Abram mad with the constant fuck-ups, fuck-ups that were small but wearying. He went into the office to fetch the small portable drive which contained the various files that Ally would need to restore his laptop _again_ , pausing to smile at the lit up figurines, and then down to the garage so he could drive the two of them to his cousin’s townhouse a few blocks away.

When they were almost there, Andrew texted the pain in the ass to let him know they were about to pull into the driveway of the townhouse, and Abram felt a sense of accomplishment of driving even if it was for all of five minutes, if that. Because it was feeling more natural by then to sit behind the wheel of the Aston Martin, to have Andrew on his left when in a vehicle instead of his right. To not glance aside and see his mother there, thin body tense and eyes scanning the side and rear view mirrors to check if anyone was following them, to see if he was driving too fast or too slow and so drawing attention to them. To worry about things like someone trying to drive him off the road or shoot at him while he was behind the wheel. He could actually enjoy driving when he was with Andrew, could talk about things other than new identities and exit strategies and lies to tell anyone who get too close.

It was such an odd thing, to realize that he’d gone how many days without lying, without having to pretend to be someone he wasn’t. Before Andrew, the truth was such a dangerous, fearful thing, and now Abram found himself cherishing it even if it still possessed the occasional sharp edge that could draw blood. Pain had never deterred Abram, not as long as it served a purpose, as long as there was meaning to it.

Ally texted them to come in, so they left the car parked in the driveway near the garage and went up to the front door, Andrew opening it and stepping into the townhouse first. Abram frowned as he breathed in something odd, something foul, and then he was suddenly shoved to the side by a cursing Andrew – a cursing Andrew who fell silent as he shuddered and stumbled to the floor the same time that someone large and dressed in dark colors lunged from the alcove by the front door for Abram.

“Andrew!” Worried about his friend, Abram got two knives out and slashed at the man trying to take him down, slashed at the hands reaching for him and then across the bastard’s throat before he attempted to turn around to see what had happened to Andrew. His friend was still on the floor instead of up and fighting, which meant taser or tranq to knock him out, which meant Abram had to figure out a way to get the both of them the hell out of the damn townhouse which was a trap and Ally and fuck, _fuck_. First Andrew and-

Two more men rushed at him while he was trying to figure out what to do, how to save Andrew and get them out of the damn trap they’d been led into, and he could only take out one of the bastards while being unwilling to leave Andrew - another man down and the other bleeding before Abram was slammed _hard_ into the wall and his hands pinned. There were even more people then, too many hands on him to fight though he tried his best, though he kicked and spat and even attempted to bite anything that came near his mouth, and got his hair grabbed and head slammed a few more times for his trouble, his body pummeled until he couldn’t breathe. Not even the thought at having his hair grabbed, the feel of rough hands on his body made him give in to the familiar panic, not when he needed to remain aware for Andrew. So he fought through the growing pain and the dizziness as he was hauled away from the wall, the punishing hands still on his arms, his shoulders, his hair and even around his neck, and found himself forced onto his knees after he was half-carried, half-dragged into another room.

Ally was there, sprawled out on the pale carpet with hands and feet bound, face battered and mouth gagged, and clothes torn and bloody. There looked to be a body a couple of meters away by a black leather couch, half covered by a trench coat; Abram thought it was Tori, judging from the long, light brown hair matted with clotted blood. He spared her and the various large, dark-clad armed guards scattered around the room a quick glance and fought not to shudder as he was patted down for his personal items, as his armbands were yanked from his restrained arms, his hands bound together in front of him with ties and his weapons handed to a smirking Riko Moriyama.

Riko Moriyama, along with Kevin Day, Jean Moreau and several armed muscle. Abram had to once again push down the panic bubbling inside of his chest at the sight of the Japanese man, at the knowledge that a Moriyama had managed not only to get inside the UK but the heart of London, had managed to capture two Hatfords and their own guards.

“Nathaniel, here at last,” Riko said, his voice just as smug as his expression; he was dressed in black jeans and a black dress shirt with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, the ‘1’ on his left cheek crinkled by how much he was smiling just then. “Now the party can start.”

There was movement off to the left, two more large men hauling a dazed Andrew into the room, his arms bound behind him and his clothes disturbed enough that Abram knew that his knives were gone as well; they shoved the American down onto the carpet face first, and Andrew was still left incapacitated enough that he could do little more than growl in frustration and roll over a little.

The sight of him made a cruel smile spread across Riko’s face, and for Kevin’s expression to grow even more blank; behind the two men, Jean Moreau stood with his arms folded across his chest with his eyes unfocused, as if he was doing his best to pretend that he wasn’t in the same room with everyone else. “Look, Kevin, it’s your old friend, Minyard.” Riko came over to stand near Andrew, and lashed out with his left foot to kick Andrew in the ribs, which sent him rolling onto his back. “What did you say to me that one time, hmm?” he asked with a cruel smile on his thin lips as he kicked Andrew again and again. “To fuck off? That I was a piece of worthless shit? Who’s worthless now, hmm? Who’s on the ground, unable to do anything?”

“ _Stop it_ ,” Abram hissed as he struggled to pull free from the hands holding him in place, as he glared at Riko through the fear and anger for Andrew. “ _You are a worthless piece of shit, beating up a helpless man_ ,” he spat out in Japanese, which made Kevin stare at him with something resembling panic. “ _Worthless and a coward_!” He continued to glare while a now displeased Riko turned his way, turned away from Andrew. “ _A sadistic fuck like you doesn’t deserve to-_ ” Pain tore through his head once more when Riko backhanded him, but he didn’t care. He didn’t care, not when it got the bastard’s attention away from Andrew.

He heard muffled grunts, probably from Ally, and a low groan, probably from Andrew, but didn’t allow his attention to shift from a bright-eyed and panting Riko looming in front of him. “ _Did that turn you on, you sadistic fuck?_ ” His vision was blurry and blood was running down his face from the blow, but he continued on, undeterred.

“Nathaniel… shut up, please,” Kevin groaned as if in pain.

Riko’s grin just then was of pure delight, while his dark eyes glittered with something akin to sickening possession. “I was told that they’d almost broken you,” he said as he leaned in to grab Abram’s hair and yank his head back. “That you were semi-biddable. Oh, this is _so_ much better.”

“What a… a su-surprise,” Abram managed to choke out. “You not knowing shit.” A strangled cry slipped free when Riko backhanded him again, splitting his bottom lip.

There was a noise off to the side from where Andrew was, but Abram couldn’t see what was happening to his friend, not with Riko holding on to his hair and looming in front of him. “I know enough,” Riko insisted as his right hand stroked along Abram’s face and then down his neck, as those fingers tightened enough to make breathing difficult. “I know your father is looking forward to teaching you some lessons, _Junior_ ,” he said while Abram struggled in vain, his eyes going wide at the mention of Nathan Wesninski. “He’ll be here soon enough, so how about we make things interesting, hmm? How do you want to break? I hand you over to him or I drag you upstairs to the nearest bed?” The bastard was smirking once more as he let go of Abram’s neck; Abram coughed as he fought for air, as he struggled not to throw up at the ‘choices’ being given to him just then, then gagged as the hand continued downward. “Minyard gets to watch, either way.”

“Fuc-fuck you!” Abram managed to work up enough saliva to spit in the smirking bastard’s face, and swore he lost some hair when Riko smacked him again, his head jerked around from the force of the blow.

He’d rather face his father than allow Riko to touch him anymore, and something of that decision must have shown in his expression because Riko’s own was murderous while he wiped away the spittle, only to turn into a chilling smile as he grasped Abram’s head between his hands for a punishing kiss which made Abram once more feel nauseous. “Upstairs it is,” Riko said, while Andrew made a garbled protest which sounded a lot like ‘no’. “It’s going to be so much fun breaking you,” Riko told Abram while pulling a switchblade from a pocket of his jeans, which he used to cut at Abram’s thin jumper. “To make you know who you belong to, to shatter that fight in you.” Anger twisted his features when he saw the exposed Hatford coat of arms on Abram’s chest, and the tip of the knife had just started to dig in to the skin around it when Kevin came over to touch the psychotic bastard on the shoulder.

“What?” Riko snapped as the knife skittered across Abram’s chest, making Abram bite into his already bleeding lower lip.

“Not here,” Kevin pleaded, his voice hoarse and face pale, green eyes haunted as if he had trouble dealing with what he’d seen. “There’s no telling if any of the Hatford people will stop by, so we need to leave.” He glanced at Abram, guilt evident on his face. “We need to leave before you… we need to leave now.”

Before Riko became obsessed with his new ‘toy’, meaning Abram, in other words.

For a moment it looked as if Riko was about to stab the bloody knife into Kevin, before he sighed as if annoyed and patted the flat of the blade against Kevin’s tattooed cheek. “Right, right, best to go somewhere we won’t be interrupted.” Then he smiled at Abram, the expression once more cruel and a touch insane. “I think I’m going to need some time with you.”

“Fuck you,” Abram repeated, his voice rough from the pain of the beatings he’d taken, the cuts to his chest and the fear for Andrew and Ally.

“Soon enough,” Riko promised as he slashed the knife across the Hatford tattoo before wiping it clean on Abram’s torn and gaping jumper. Then he was walking away while ordering his people to get ready to leave, and Abram blinked when he found Kevin grabbing hold of his bound hands to pull him up onto his feet – Kevin, who now had Abram’s armbands tucked into the waistband of his black jeans. At some point, he must have grabbed them when Riko had thrown them aside.

Two men picked up Ally, who groaned in a painful manner at being moved, which made Abram wonder how much of a fight his cousin had put up, and it took three to move a sluggish yet struggling Andrew. They all headed toward the lower level and the garage, where Abram assumed they had hidden their vehicles.

Andrew’s face was bruised from the hits he’d taken, hazel eyes blazing with anger and hatred and full lips pulled back in a sneer. “Fuck’n trai...dor,” he managed to choke out to Kevin as they stumbled down the steps.

Kevin was quiet for a moment, his expression once more closed off, and Abram thought that Jean Moreau was right behind them; as soon as they were in the garage and Andrew was being shoved toward one of the large black SUVs with tinted windows, Kevin pulled Abram in close. “ _This is for Bee_ ,” he said in French and in a rush, his voice pitched high from strain. “ _I’m sorry_.”

A couple of things happened at almost the same time; Kevin handed Abram back his knives right before he pulled a gun from beneath his sports coat and shot at the men nearest him (he was an awful shot, but the thing about guns and close range was that experience didn’t matter too much), as Ally and Andrew began to fight in earnest and someone opened the garage door.

Abram got a couple of knives free and put them to good use while Kevin hauled him out of the garage door. “Wait, Andrew!” he insisted as he attempted to dig in his heels, to go back and free his friend. To free Andrew and Ally; Abram twisted around to look for his friend while throwing a knife, and cursed as he was shoved toward the Aston Martin with enough force by Kevin to almost topple over. “Andrew!” He fought in earnest to go back for his friend while he cut the ties around his wrists.

“Just go! I can’t get both of you out of here!” Kevin yelled, then yelped as someone shot at them. Abram still jerked at the hold the striker had on him, even when a bullet struck him around the right hip and almost knocked him down, then Riko screamed at his people about not killing Abram. Struggling to breathe through the pain, Abram inwardly cursed when he heard Andrew start to yell at him to _fucking go_ in German.

He tried to take a step forward, only to have Kevin drag him back and Andrew to keep yelling. It hurt more than the gunshot and the cuts to his chest, than the beatings he’d took, than the knowledge that his father was in the UK and that he’d come so close to being raped again. It hurt more than all of that together, leaving Andrew behind in Riko Moriyama’s hands – in what would soon be his _father’s_ hands, but he was shoved behind the wheel of the Aston Martin and forced himself to peel out of the driveway as one of the SUV’s came barreling out of the garage after them.

“My phone,” he ground out as he turned off the automatic suspension and braking systems of the car, as he did his best to speed down the residential road uncaring about cars and pedestrians or anything but getting away from the SUV tailing them even with his blurry vision; so much for his earlier thoughts on how nice it was to drive without worrying about anyone chasing him, without having to put to use all the things his mother had taught him, Abram told himself as he suppressed the urge to laugh while cutting a corner fast enough to drift.

“What? No, I didn’t manage to get it – just the keys and knives,” Kevin said, his voice growing sharp with fear as Abram weaved in and out of traffic. “Fuck! Do you – the bus! The bus!”

“I see it,” Abram told him as he cut back into their lane just in time and hopefully bought a few dozen meters lead. “Your phone?”

“What? Yes, I have my phone,” Kevin said as he braced his hands against the dashboard and seemed to start praying.

“Pull it out,” Abram told him as if talking to an idiot, teeth clamped together as he pushed away the pain and everything else. “I need you to call my cousin – the one you didn’t kidnap.”

Kevin had the grace to stop panicking for two seconds to look guilty at that. “I didn’t- Riko… okay.” He shuddered a little as he retrieved his phone. “I didn’t have anything to do with it.”

He didn’t call Andrew to tell his ‘friend’ about the plan to put a stop to it, did he? Still, nothing they could do to change the past, just attempt to fix things moving forward before Andrew and Ally got – Abram cut off that thought and told Kevin what number to dial, and to put the phone on speaker mode. Kevin fumbled to do all of that while muttering about not killing them, dammit, then warned Abram that the phone couldn’t be trusted. Meanwhile, the SUV was back, but it shouldn’t be much longer before they were pulled over with the way they were driving – well, the SUV, considering the Aston Martin’s plates.

“Who is this?” Jamie asked after the third ring, a cold edge to her voice.

“It’s Abram,” he said in a rush, teeth now chattering a little. “Listen to me,” he told her before she could start asking questions. “This is Kevin Day’s phone, and it’s most likely bugged. I’m currently about ten blocks from Ally’s house headed northeast with Moriyama’s people following me, and they got Ally and Andrew – I’m certain they took off somewhere else in a similar SUV, new, black, tinted windows, Land Rover. Riko’s here and Wesninski will be soon if he’s not already.” While he talked, he cut into a busier section of town and felt some satisfaction when the SUV clipped a lorry; any moment now for the police to join the fun.

Jami was quiet for about five seconds, during which Abram thought he heard sirens in the distance. “Andrew and Ally still alive?”

Abram felt a sharp pain in his chest which he doubted was from his wounds. “Last I saw them. Kevin got me out of Ally’s house, but not them. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be,” Jamie said, her voice harsh but she answered without any hesitation. “You’re one less person we have to rescue. Where are you?”

“Coming up on Victoria Road,” he told her while glancing in the rear view mirror; he heard her talking to what sounded like Liz in the background. “Looks like the Met has joined in the fun.” He caught the sight of flashing lights and definitely heard sirens now.

“All right, Liz is making the call now, keep going until the meet-up at Hogarth, the tail will be handled by then.”

“Okay.” He concentrated on driving, on weaving in and out of traffic while the cops narrowed in on the SUV, and sped through an intersection right before it got cut off by several police cars a few seconds later. All the while, he could hear Jamie talking to people in the background, to what sounded to be Liz, Jason and Stuart. “They’re gone now.”

“Yes, we’ll have them brought in soon enough,” Jamie agreed. “Hogarth,” she repeated. “Stuart’s on his way and Marcus is almost there.”  There was a slight pause. “Are you all right?”

“I’m fine, thanks,” Abram told his cousin as he slowed down, while Kevin shook his head in disbelief before he put his phone away.

“How the hell?” the striker asked as he twisted in the seat to look behind them at the trapped SUV. “The police? You have the police on your side?”

“Don’t tell me the Moriyamas don’t,” Abram scoffed as he sped past a slow lorry at a reasonable speed – well, compared to what he’d been doing before. His right hip was throbbing in pain from him driving, and Andrew was probably going to bitch about the blood on - dammit, _Andrew_.

“Nothing as obvious as that,” Kevin argued. “Not in the States, and maybe not even in Japan. _Fuck_.” He scrubbed his hands over his sweaty face then studied Abram. “No wonder they’ve been after you for so long, Nathanie-“

“ _Abram_ ,” Abram snapped. “I haven’t been ‘Nathaniel’ for fifteen years, since the last time I saw you.” Since that awful day in Evermore; the next he was on the run with his mother, with a new name and a new look and hadn’t stopped running for years. Hadn’t stopped running until he’d become Abram.

It looked as if Kevin remembered that day, too, judging from how he paled once more, his skin fading to an awful muddy complexion until Abram worried that the striker would throw up. “Fifteen years. A lot has happened since then,” Kevin mumbled.

“A lot has happened in the last hour,” Abram pointed out. “Why are you helping me?” Not that he was complaining – actually, he _was_. Why hadn’t Kevin helped Andrew, too, dammit?

“ _Fuck_ ,” Kevin repeated. “That was Andrew, wasn’t it? He was behind those people telling me about my mother.”

Abram saw no reason for lying, so he nodded as he gunned the engine to get through a changing light. “Yes. My family helped your cousin set up a new life before Tetsuji or Kengo could silence her about what happened, and when Andrew found out the truth, he made sure it got passed on to you.”

Things were quiet in the car for a couple of blocks, while Abram focused on driving and did his best to ignore the pain of his wounds, the pain of abandoning Andrew even if he hadn’t had a choice, and then he glanced over to find Kevin sitting there with his hands clenched into fists and an awful expression on his face, one of rage and betrayal. “It’s hard sometimes, remembering her,” Kevin said, his voice haggard as if he had to fight to speak, to get the words out because of all the emotions inside of him. “The exact sound of her voice when she said my name, how she smiled when she hugged me, things like that. All these years I thought I lost her to an accident, and it was really the Moriyamas who took her from me? For what? For fucking what?” He let out an inarticulate yell of rage while he punched the dashboard hard enough to bruise the knuckles of his scarred left hand.

So he hadn’t turned his back on the Moriyamas over them relegating him to second best all these years, to Riko breaking his hand, to the emotional and probably verbal abuse and driving him to alcoholism, but because of his mother. Considering what all Mary had done for Abram, what Abram had done for the Hatfords and how Andrew protected Aaron and Nicky… well, Abram wasn’t going to cast any stones, but he thought things were long overdue. “Not that I don’t appreciate the help, but you couldn’t have done something before they got their hands on all three of us?” Before Tori got killed and Andrew captured?

Kevin shook his head, then seemed to dig through the pockets of his black sports coat for something, which turned out to be some tissues that he handed over to Abram. Abram stared at them in confusion, especially when Kevin made a dabbing motion at his own face; yes, he was well aware that he was bleeding from several wounds at the moment, from his chest and hip in particular, but _priorities_ , for fuck’s sake. Still, he took the things.

“I told you, my phone’s bugged and Riko’s had someone watching me since I came out of rehab to make sure I didn’t do anything stupid. All I could manage was to talk to Jean a little, make sure he was willing to help and get a gun,” Kevin explained. They drove along for a block or two, Abram doing his best to concentrate despite the pain and what he was certain was another bloody concussion, and then Kevin’s expression crumbled. “Fuck, he’s going to kill me if he catches us. He’ll never forgive me for betraying him.”

“ _If_ he catches us.” Abram hissed in pain as he shifted in the seat and pulled at one of the cuts on his chest, let alone his hip. “How the hell did you get into the country? We’ve people watching for you, and there’s the damn Exy season.”

“Somehow… your father had a contact who helped out, getting us in,” Kevin explained as he shrugged out of his jacket and gingerly put it on Abram’s lap, probably because of noticeable stains of blood on Abram’s ruined jumper. “And there’s no game this week. We need to be back in a couple of days – well, Riko and Jean do. I’m still not cleared yet to play.”

Wonderful, done in by a skip week and a mysterious benefactor. Abram concentrated on getting them to the family’s office on Hogarth Street, after making certain that Kevin had turned his phone off; even if Riko had someone listening in on the call, the area was big enough they’d have a problem tracking Abram down.

As soon as he pulled into the underground parking lot, Nadav was there to slide into the Aston Martin and drive it away as a decoy, along with Ollie, while Stuart took one look at Abram then started cursing and Davis had Kevin up against the wall.

“Not now,” Abram said with a weary sigh, just wanting to slump against the wall himself and… he didn’t know what, exactly. Bang his head or smack his fists against it, huddle down in a ball and do his best to not think about what might be happening to Andrew. “I don’t think he’s tricking us.”

“Better safe than sorry,” Davis insisted as he patted Kevin down, taking away the phone, gun and any other personal items stashed away in Kevin’s pockets. “I’m not finding any bugs,” he told Stuart.

“Fine, then let’s get going.” Stuart draped his own coat over Abram’s shoulders, his left hand gentle on Abram’s back as he steered him toward the waiting BMW sedan. “You can hold out a little longer, yeah? We’ll have Annie look at you once we get somewhere safe.”

“I’m fine,” Abram told him. “We need to find Andrew and Ally.”

“We’re working on that.” Stuart motioned to Marcus, who came to take Kevin with him in another car.

Abram frowned at that. “I said-“

“We’re not taking any chances,” Stuart insisted. “He’s coming with us, but we’re not going to risk the two of you together, all right?”

“It’s okay,” Kevin said as he went along with the enforcer. “Just get us out of here before Riko tracks us down.”

“Exactly.”

For a moment, Abram wondered what had happened to the smiling, exuberant Exy-loving boy he’d known back at Evermore, the young Kevin who had laughed while they’d played and joked with a happy Riko. What had happened to turn one of them into a sadistic criminal and another into a coward who didn’t live up to his own potential? Had it always been like that and Abram had just been blind to things that day?

He groaned as he slid into the back of the BMW, body complaining from bending once more and fresh blood trickling down his chest from where one or two barely scabbed wounds had split open. He slumped against the leather seats and closed his eyes, secure for the moment with Stuart beside him and Davis in front, with his armbands held clutched in his left hand. “I’m sorry,” he told his uncle. “I couldn’t… we barely got out.” Jamie and Uncle Will and Aunt Miriam had to be in a panic over Ally, at the thought of losing another brother or son – all because of Abram.

“You’re – shut up,” Stuart told him, voice harsh even as he gave Abram’s left leg a gentle pat. “This isn’t on you, do you hear me? When we meet up with Jamie then we’ll have the Yank tell us everything, tell us how the hell those pricks got here without being flagged in customs and all.”

“They got to Ally somehow,” Abram said. “Tori’s dead.”

“Yeah, we had Bren check the place after you called. He’s trying to trace their steps, figure out where those pricks got the two of them, but sure Day will be able to answer that for us.”

Abram thought of Tori’s body and then of Andrew. “They have-“

“No,” Stuart told him, and now there was an odd softness to his gruff voice. “Don’t go there, Ram. They’ll keep ‘em alive, because they want you. They’ll see them as bargaining chips, and that won’t work if they kill them. It’ll buy us time to get them back. And we will, we’ll get them back.”

Get them back, but in what condition? Abram remembered his days in North Tottenham, remembered how often he’d wished that the Popescu cousins had just killed him so many times, and they weren’t anything like his father. Yet all he did was give a shallow nod and hoped that his uncle was right, that they would get Andrew and Ally back.

Abram would tear London apart with his bare hands if need be, would go back to the States if the trail led there. He’d bargain with his father and Riko, would offer himself up if it meant having Andrew returned to him, safe and sound.

He would destroy them if he had to get his friend back by force. Whatever it took. Andrew would be back.

*******

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> That's not too bad, was it? Kevin's back! He's actually IN the chapter this time, not just on the phone! That's another Fox! Aren't you happy?
> 
> And Jean! JEAN! Everyone loves Jean!
> 
> ... so what if there's also Riko and Nathan's right around the corner....
> 
> No pleasing some people, I tell ya.
> 
> Ahem, I have the next chapter finished! I promise, it'll get better after... well, it'll get resolved in ch18. Yep. And at least two chapters after that, which will be lots better than this and the next one, I PROMISE.
> 
> Dare I say anything about comments and kudos? Oh dear.  
> *******


	18. I Won't Run Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You know, I'm a little leery about posting this chapter, after all the (wonderful) feedback from the last chapter. I mean... well, hopefully it won't disappoint.
> 
> And hopefully there will be no pitchforks (there was one or two comments in that regard).
> 
> Again, much thanks to Huntswodh for the beta!
> 
> Here we go!  
> *******

*******

The rage built inside of Andrew during the long drive from Ally’s townhouse, as he suffered another painful zap of the taser and Riko kicked him several times during the trip. Someone wasn’t happy with Abram getting away, wasn’t happy that Kevin had betrayed him. Andrew would work up some sympathy for the psychotic prick any moment now, would gladly bleed for him. Oh, wait, would gladly bleed Riko dry – that was it. Just a little confusion there because of fifty-thousand or so of volts of electricity running through him and all, a few blows to the head.

Abram had gotten away, Andrew was certain of that. Riko would take too much delight in rubbing his nose in that situation having changed, in Abram having been caught and the chance to make Kevin pay for his turncoat ways. That meant that Andrew hadn’t broken his promise, that Abram was safe and free from the Moriyamas, from his father; there was no way that Stuart was going to let his nephew anywhere near danger, now that he knew that Riko was in town and Nathan somewhere nearby, that they’d already gotten a hold of Ally.

Riko spat something in Japanese into his phone and kicked Andrew again, who had been shoved onto the floorboards in the back row of the Land Rover, before he threw the phone away. “Where would they have taken him?” he demanded while he kicked Andrew once more, who just stared at the bastard while grunting. “He was shot, so where would they have taken him?”

Andrew refused to let the fear he felt upon hearing that Abram had been injured show on his face and merely closed his eyes instead while his split lips pressed together. That provoked another cry of rage from Riko, but before he could do too much more damage, one of his underlings said something in a rush of Japanese while the vehicle began to decelerate.

Something was shoved over Andrew’s head as the SUV slowed down even more and made a couple of turns, and then there was a voice speaking in English with a British accent asking for security clearances. Another of Riko’s men spoke back in English while there was a rustle of paper, and it occurred to Andrew just then where they must be, especially when he heard something about perimeter checks in the background and what sounded to be planes overheard.

There were several air force bases in the UK, air force bases where the United States had some sort of presence. The only question was, how the hell had Riko Moriyama gotten access to one of them? Andrew was left pondering that when the British voice granted them access and the vehicle started moving once more.

They drove for what felt to be a few more minutes before coming to a stop and a loud, metallic grating sound filled the air. While that went on, the SUV rolled forward, the sound of its engine amplified as if in an enclosed space, and then came to another stop.

Doors opened, but Andrew wasn’t hauled out until the grating sound stopped, was carried for a few seconds and then dropped onto what felt to be concrete. Judging from the muffled yelp near him, he’d say that Ally had joined the ‘party’, which was confirmed when the makeshift hood was yanked from his head, along with a few strands of hair.

They were in what looked to be some sort of hanger, the smell of grease and fuel heavy in the air though there weren’t any signs of planes or helicopters, just the two Land Rovers and a couple of other vehicles along with some furniture – that and a bunch of Moriyama stooges, a furious Riko front and center. Andrew gave them all a bored look as he did the best to get his battered body to cooperate, to roll over into some sort of sitting position when his vision swam from the blows to his head along with all the voltage, his body aching from the kicks and his hands bound behind his back.

But Abram had gotten away.

Riko said something in Japanese to his men as he approached Andrew, and a couple of them split off to haul a still gagged Ally more or less onto his knees while another two came to stand on either side of Andrew, their hands heavy on his shoulders. He attempted to shrug off their hold, but all that did was earn him another hit to the head and fingers digging into his flesh.

“You never did learn when to quit, did you? Well, you did walk away from Kevin,” Riko said, his face twisting with something awful when he mentioned Day. “Did you do something to him? _Did you_?” He came to a halt in front of Andrew and reached down to backhand him with enough force that Andrew would have tumbled onto his back if not for the hands holding onto him, hands that jerked him onto his feet so Riko wouldn’t have to stoop down to hit him again. “What the hell did you do?” Riko demanded even as he kept slapping Andrew too much to receive an answer. “He never would have _dared_ to do such a thing, but the moment filth like you is back in-”

“The thing about interrogating someone is, you have to give them a chance to talk,” a deep voice called out; it was familiar for some reason, but Andrew’s ears were ringing so much from Riko’s blows that he couldn’t pin it down right away. He slumped forward as much as he could with the pricks holding on to him, blood dripping from his nose and mouth, and watched as two blurry figures approached; he felt a weary resignation settle in his bones when he recognized Nathan Wesninski, but had no clue who the tall, middle-aged man was at the Butcher’s side.

Nathan eyed Andrew for a few seconds, then Ally, before he looked at Riko with evident scorn. “I don’t see Junior, just the guard dog and the fuck-up.”

Riko’s face flushed as he ran a trembling and blood-smeared hand through his hair, while behind him Jean Moreau took a step back as if hoping to lose himself in the shadows. “We had him, dammit,” Riko mumbled, much like a naughty child who had been called on the spot by a parent. “We had all three of them, and then Kevin betrayed me! _Kevin_!” He continued in Japanese for a moment as if caught up in strong emotion, before Nathan cut him off with a curt gesture.

“So you’re saying that not only did that little shit get away but that Kevin Day helped him, and now the Hatfords know we’re here and where we are.” Andrew was going to say that Nathan didn’t appear pleased with the summation of recent events, which made Riko take a cautious step back as well. Interestingly enough, the man who’d come out with the psycho merely shrugged as if he wasn’t concerned about anything.

“It doesn’t matter that much,” the man said, his accent American but bland enough that it didn’t mark him from anywhere in particular except perhaps the Northeast or West Coast on the whole. “They can’t reach us here, there’s no way they can get the proper clearance. I’ve made sure of that.”

“But they can hide my son away now that they know we’re here,” Nathan pointed out. “Let me off this damn base.”

“No,” the stranger said, his slight smile wiped away by something cold. “All it takes is one CCTV surveillance camera catching sight of you and we’re screwed – you know you’re not supposed to be out of the States. I can block the Hatfords from stepping on the base, but they’ve still got enough pull elsewhere in the damn country to make things difficult for us.”

Nathan wasn’t happy to hear that, judging from the flush to his face and the way his meaty hands clenched into fists; it was easy to tell that he was related to Abram since they had the same hair color and eyes, they shared similar features. Yet Abram was a more refined copy of his father, his face thinner and cheekbones higher, his eyebrows and lips inherited from his mother’s side of the family, along with his lack of height and lean build. Nathan was built like a brawler, like a man who could batter you down with those fists of his, who would use brute strength to pound his enemies into the ground… or a heavy blade to chop them into pieces. Abram was a fencer, a runner, a knife, was speed and flexibility and too-sharp cuts that left one bleeding out behind him while he moved in to the next target.

For a moment Andrew imagined father and son facing off, of Abram stripped of his fear for the monster who had sired and abused him, and thought that Nathan might indeed regret allowing that mistake to go unchecked for so long.

Fortunately for Abram, he was spared from that fight; Nathan gave up on trying to intimidate or scare off the stranger, whom Andrew was beginning to wonder was the person responsible for the mysterious emails.

Nathan made a sound of disgust as he looked away, back at Andrew and Ally. “At least you managed to get something,” he told Riko as he stomped over to Ally. “Will probably wants the fuck-up back, I imagine. Maybe enough to swap out his jinx of a nephew.” A cruel smile spread over his face as he grabbed a handful of Ally’s matted hair and yanked until Ally half-stumbled onto his feet, his face twisted with anger and pain. “I hear you don’t have half the balls that your bitch of a sister does. Maybe I should send them to her?”

Ally tried to say something, but the words were muffled by the gag; the smile widened when Nathan pulled a switchblade from the right front pocket of his black dress pants and flicked it open, which made Ally’s eyes grow into huge circles. Still, Andrew had to give the pain in the ass credit for not pulling away when Nathan leaned in, other than letting out a faint whimper as the knife cut into the left side of his face while slicing through the gag.

“Muh-motherfucker,” Ally groaned as he shook his head, drops of blood flying from the fresh cut. “You can go to he-” He let out a gasp as Nathan slashed him across the chest and hunched over, just for the two men standing next to him to grab him by the bound arms and left shoulder, respectively.

“See, that accent, it annoys me,” Nathan said, his deep voice bored and blue eyes hooded by heavy brows. “You sound just like that cunt, just like Mary, and I heard enough of her yapping for thirteen fucking years.” He snorted in what seemed to be amusement as he used the knife to cut off Ally’s torn and dirty shirt. “Thirteen years – figures she’d pick then to pack up the brat and run away.” When Ally’s shirt hung in tatters around his upper body and arms, pale skin littered in tattoos and bruises – but no Hatford crest, Andrew noticed – the cruel smile returned to Nathan’s full lips. “Let’s count together, shall we? One,” he said as he drew the knife along Ally’s ribs.

“Fu-fuck!” Ally cried out as he attempted to hunch over, only to have one of Riko’s men grab onto his hair and yank his head back. “Fuuh-ck.”

Andrew tried to pull away from the men who held on to him. “Leave him alone you sick fuck.” Yes, Ally was a pain in the ass and yes, he was indeed a fuck-up, but he didn’t deserve to have Nathan Wesninski carving him up like that. Let Will or Jamie kick the shit of out him for getting them into this mess, but not Nathan ‘the Butcher’ Wesninski.

Nathan didn’t even glance Andrew’s way while Riko slapped Andrew again. “Don’t worry, dog, I’ll get to you eventually. One at a time.”

“We need him alive for the trade,” the stranger reminded Nathan. “We need them both alive, for the best leveraging position.”

Nathan scoffed at that while he cut another line along Ally’s ribs, which prompted a low sob from Abram’s cousin. “This? This is nothing. Nathaniel put up with worse when he was a boy,” Nathan stated as he held up the bloody knife to Ally’s face. “You going to let a little _boy_ best you, fuck-up?” he asked in a mocking voice. “Junior might be a cunt’s whelp, but he could at least stand still and be quiet during a bit of pain.”

Andrew spit aside the blood that had gathered in his mouth as he glared at the monster who obviously enjoyed what he was doing to Ally. “I’m going to kill you,” he swore as he fought once more with the ties around his wrists, at least until Riko punched him in the stomach. “You… too,” he told the prick as he fought for breath.

Riko bared his teeth in a parody of a smile as he dug his fingers into Andrew’s hair, his nails biting into Andrew’s scalp. “I’m going to enjoy making you watch while I fuck Nathaniel. Kevin told me all about you, told me how you didn’t allow anyone to so much as touch him while your agreement was in effect. How will it feel, knowing that you failed Nathaniel so spectacularly?” Riko brought his knee up into Andrew’s gut while he laughed, the sound sharp and tinged with mad glee. “How much will that _hurt_?”

As soon as he could breathe again, Andrew managed to stutter out some of the Japanese curses Abram had used on him in the last few weeks; he wasn’t sure what they meant, but judging from the previous Russian ones, he figured they were inventive and Riko wouldn’t appreciate them.

Considering the punch to the jaw, Riko truly didn’t appreciate them. In fact, Riko didn’t appreciate them so much that he kept swinging at Andrew until the stranger latched onto the prick’s arms and hauled him away.

“What did I say about us needing him alive? Dammit, he’s doing it on purpose, trying to rile you up!” the man said while Riko ranted in Japanese and attempted to kick Andrew, even though he’d been pulled too far away.

Andrew’s vision faded in and out and he thought a tooth or two had been knocked loose, maybe his nose was broken as well, it was that difficult to breathe. While Ally sobbed in the background and Nathan continued to count numbers with an agonizing slowness, the stranger berated Riko about keeping his fool head for once and Andrew spat out another mouthful of blood as he was allowed to sink to his knees.

He needed to come up with some sort of plan other than ‘be Riko’s punching bag’, because that wasn’t getting him anywhere – at least, not as long as that bastard was there to rein Riko and Nathan in. He needed more information, needed to figure out how to ensure that Abram didn’t end up in his father’s hands, even if it meant that Andrew and Ally didn’t get out of the hanger alive. Andrew had made a promise, and there was no way he was going to break it, was going to allow Abram to end up in the hands of people who would only break him and treat him as a possession for the rest of his life.

Struggling to get the pain under control so he could better figure out how badly he’d been hurt, he started when he saw feet approach and went to jerk away when he realized that Jean Moreau had stopped sulking or hiding or whatever in the shadows and was now crouching on his haunches in front of Andrew. The Frenchman clicked his tongue in disgust as he motioned for one of the men near Andrew to hold on to him better while he reached out to touch Andrew’s face.

“What are you doing, Jean?” Riko asked.

“Making sure he doesn’t asphyxiate, considering our recent luck,” Jean replied back, sounding bored as he poked at Andrew’s face. “Try to bite me, and I will have these men bash in your teeth, Doe,” he told Andrew. “Now be un bon chien, pas un?”

“Speak English,” Andrew mumbled, even though he had a good idea of what the backliner had said just then, after all the trips to Paris.

“Just behave,” Jean sighed, and that close to the man, Andrew could see the shadows in his eyes, the fine lines of stress on his forehead and what looked to be healed scars mostly hidden by the thick fall of dark hair. He kept his attention focused on Jean as the Frenchman leaned in closer to reset what was indeed a broken nose, and fought back a curse at the pain.

It was faint, but he almost missed Jean whispering to him before the man pulled away. “There, he shouldn’t drown in his own blood,” Jean said as he stood up. “At least, not yet.” He gave a faint shrug as if to show that he didn’t care much about Andrew’s eventual outcome, and once again retreated from everyone as if grateful to be done with things for a while.

As if grateful to be out of Riko’s attention for a while. Which might be habit for him, if Kevin hadn’t lied to Andrew about all the stories of how Riko had treated Jean as a toy to torment and break, as a favorite target to abuse.

Which meant that he would have every reason to go along with Kevin, if Kevin was finally breaking free of Riko. Which meant that he might not have been lying when he whispered to Andrew ‘I helped Kevin, and I’ll help you’.

It could also be a trap, could be a trick of Riko’s to fuck with Andrew… but at that point, what did Andrew have to lose? As long as it didn’t involve betraying Abram, not much of anything.

Everything was on the table, as long as Abram was kept safe. Including Andrew’s life.

Considering the gleam of hatred in Riko’s eyes as he stared at Andrew, it just might come to that.

*******

“-ing idiots, I swear. Honestly, I can’t believe you. Now hand me more gauze.”

Ow. _OW_. Oh fuck, did that hurt. Abram gasped in pain as he woke up, hands scrambling for his knives as he jerked upright – or attempted to jerk upright. He found himself being held down, which only increased the sense of panic, but before he could do anything else, a wave of dizziness and nausea washed through him. “Oooh… oh god.”

“Are you going to throw up?”

That… that was Annie, right? Abram panted as he struggled not to throw up and squinted in an attempt to clear his vision, and realized it was Stuart and Davis who were holding onto his shoulders, most of his clothes gone and Annie pressing something against his right hip. His very, very sore right hip. Only the fact that he trusted the three of them and could see an anxious Jamie hovering in the background kept the panic from becoming overwhelming – that and memories were starting to return.

Ally’s home, the trap, Riko, Andrew, Kevin, _the trap_ , leaving Andrew behind, getting shot, _Andrew_. “What- Andrew?” he asked, his voice raspy and throat dry. “Is he all right?”

Stuart’s hands tightened on Abram’s left shoulder for a moment and then his uncle’s grip relaxed. “Ram… no, I’m sorry but no. We just got you to Jamie’s office in Harringay a few minutes ago – you passed out on the way here.”

“Yeah, shock and stress and blood loss will do that to a body,” Annie said as she pulled away the blood-soaked gauze. “Which is why you tell people you’ve been shot, you dumb git!”

“I’m fuh-“ Abram winced when she pressed the bandages against his wound again. “I was fine,” he said, his teeth chattering together.

“No, you weren’t and you’re most certainly not, but let me finish cleaning this and you’ll be semi-okay. Bullet took out a chunk of flesh, which explains the bleeding.” She gave him a dirty look while she picked up a bottle of what appeared to be saline water. “Would help if you had some meat on your bones, and I take it you don’t want to be doped up right now?”

“No,” he told her, which earned him a sympathetic wince from Davis.

“Your idiotic choice,” Annie said with a shrug. “I’ll numb the area as much as I can.” She swiped the area with an alcohol wipe and then injected him with something that stung like hell, but it seemed to dull the pain a little after a few seconds. While she waited with the bottle in hand, Abram forced himself to look over at Jamie.

“An-anything?”

She shook her head. “Dad and Marcus are talking to Kevin right now, trying to find out what they can from him. As far as Bren could tell, Ally went on a date last night, that’s the last we know about his whereabouts, and we’re trying to pull the CCTV footage of the Land Rovers you mentioned. As soon as our contacts in the Met are done with them, we’ll have our crack at the Moriyama people who tried to chase you down.”

“All right.” He wrapped his arms around his chest, which still hurt from the cuts Riko had made; Annie obviously had focused on the bullet wound first so he’d have to wait until she tended to the knife wounds before he could borrow a shirt or jumper. “Hopefully Kevin will – _fuck_!” He bit his torn lip as Annie flooded the bullet wound with the saline solution, the numbing agent only working so well.

“Sure you don’t want those drugs?” the doctor asked him with a too-sweet tone, even as she worked quickly to clean the wound then stitched together what she could. While Abram struggled not to throw up, she finished the task then began to bandage it and give him what felt to be an enormous dose of antibiotics. “It’s not going to look pretty and no running for a couple of weeks, you hear me?”

“Yu-yes,” he managed to gasp out, then gritted his teeth together while she moved on to his chest. For a moment he regretted not asking for the pain pills, but he’d endured worse over the years, in those motel rooms with his mother when she’d stitched him up with nothing more than cheap bourbon. Speaking of which, Davis handed him a flask of some pretty good whiskey, which made him think of Andrew as he tossed back a couple of ragged swallows, grateful for something to take off the edge of the pain even if he had to fight to keep it down.

Jamie was across the room and talking on the phone while Annie patched Abram back together, stitching up the worst cuts on his chest and butterflying the rest, and all he wanted was for the doctor to finish so he could find out what was going on, to go get Andrew back – Andrew and Ally. Stuart kept pressing on his shoulder to keep him still, which wasn’t helping things much.

“What… my knives,” Abram asked when Annie checked out his face.

“Liz’s getting you some new bands, should have them any minute now,” Stuart explained as he finally backed off to give Annie some space. “He good now?”

She looked at Stuart as if he was insane while she tugged off the now soiled rubber gloves. “He’s got yet another concussion, he’s down enough blood that I’d rather he go to a hospital and he better take the damn antibiotics if he knows what’s good for him, but yes, he’s ‘good’,” she snapped. “Keep him from getting shot or stabbed for a few days, and out of my sight.” After slapping down a few bottles on the table next to where Abram had been sitting, she gathered up her things and went stomping off.

It was then that Liz showed up, with Abram’s new armbands, a large bottle of orange juice and a scone. “Well, here’s hoping I don’t get shot anytime soon, she’s going to be fun dealing with on the other end of sharp objects for the next day or two.”

“Thank you,” Abram said as he accepted his knives, then forced himself to drink the juice and even choke down the scone; his stomach rebelled at first, but it did help with the lightheadedness from the blood loss. Liz even had some paracetamol, which might be wishful thinking on his part but he took a couple anyway.

Davis went off and returned with some clean sweatpants that were a bit long but could be rolled up, and a too big jumper that at least was soft against Abram’s abused skin. The enforcer said that Bren would return with one of Abram’s suits soon enough, but all Abram cared about was having something to wear once more. He slid on his bloodstained runners and went over to Jamie, who didn’t appear very happy – even considering the circumstances.

“What’s wrong?” he asked, needing Stuart’s hand beneath his left elbow as he wavered from moving too quickly.

She shook her head as she motioned them toward an office farther down in the converted warehouse. “I’m running into some unexpected road blocks, trying to call in owed favors,” she explained.

“Like what?” Stuart’s voice was sharp with anger, and his fingers dug in to Abram’s elbow, at least until Abram flinched. “Sorry, Ram.”

“Like Lloyd,” Jamie said, just as angry as Stuart but less obvious about it; it was in the way her eyes narrowed, the slight press of her lips. “When I question him about how Riko Moriyama got into the UK, he just tells me that he can’t answer that.”

“The lying prick.” Stuart’s expression was murderous just then, and Abram couldn’t blame him after what he’d done the last few weeks. However, they were at the office and he could hear Kevin Day’s hoarse voice inside of it, along with his Uncle Will’s deeper one. Jamie opened the door to reveal the two men, along with Marcus, Nick and Harry, two of Will’s enforcers who had been watching over him for as long as Abram could remember.

Kevin appeared exhausted, his shoulders slumped and black hair mussed, a sallow tone to his dusky skin which made the ‘2’ on his left cheek stand out even more, but he seemed to rally a little when Abram stepped into the room. “Thank god that you’re all right,” he sighed, and his eyes lightened up a little when Jason came in as well, with a carrier of coffee in each hand. “Andrew would kill us all if something happened to you.”

That made Uncle Will’s eyes narrow, along with Stuart’s and Jamie’s. “Why are you so worried about Andrew?” Uncle Will asked, his tone mild but his grey eyes sharp with the intellect which had allowed him to build up the Hatford business so much in the last couple of decades.

Kevin didn’t seem to notice it as he stared with evident longing at the coffee; Jamie nodded at Jason to give the striker a cup. “Because he made a deal with Na- ah, with Abram, right?” He looked at Abram, who nodded a moment later. “He’s very serious about the people he’s sworn to protect and his promises.” Then he seemed to deflate a little. “As long as it’s in effect, that is.”

“You were the one to break it,” Abram reminded the man. “The deal you had with Andrew. You went back to the Moriyamas.”

“It wasn’t that simple,” Kevin argued while he shook his head, the cup of coffee held clutched between his hands. “All I had was Exy and Andrew.” For a moment, he swiped his fingers along his tattoo then shook his head again. “I couldn’t… I couldn’t face Riko on the court without Andrew.”

“So you returned to playing at his back, to being second-best rather than to keep fighting him,” Abram guessed. “And it didn’t work out so well for you.”

Rage twisted Kevin’s features, and Abram thought he might throw the coffee before it settled. “His family killed my mother. They weren’t content with what they already had, they had to take that from me, too, the bastards. They had to have _everything_ ,” Kevin spat before he cradled his face in his scarred left hand.

The room was quiet for a moment, and then Uncle Will came over to Abram; he braced himself for a blow, for his uncle to blame him for Ally, for the potential loss of another child. Instead, Will merely looked him up and down for a couple of seconds and then cupped the side of his bruised face for a moment before stepping aside to stand next to Jamie, leaving Abram shaken and puzzled. Stuart shuffled closer to him and told him to drink his coffee with a gruff voice.

“Kevin told us that somehow, Nathan Wesninski made a deal with a Federal agent, a Dennis Harker.” When Abram and others stirred in the room at the news, Will nodded in understanding at their reactions. “It seems that some people in the U.S. government have grown concerned at how well Ichiro has reshaped his father’s organization and think the changes he’s got planned might not be in their best interest. They’re willing to help out Nathan, to keep him in control rather than see him replaced.”

“Better the devil you know than the one you don’t,” Jamie said in a rough voice, hatred bright in her eyes. “They’re bloody fools.”

“I’ll not argue that point with you,” Will said while Stuart scoffed, while Abram tried to wrap his already tired and a bit addled mind around the thought of anyone preferring the monster his father was to… it was _insane_. To _trust_ Nathan Wesninski? “I also get the feeling from what Day’s telling me that it might be an attempt to keep us from reaching into the States.”

“If they’ve got their hooks on Wesninski and Riko, then to help them bring Abram back to the States? Yes, I can see it,” Jamie agreed while she glanced at Abram. “So how the hell did they sneak in without us knowing? Don’t tell me that Lloyd’s working with them, too.”

Kevin spoke up again, his attention once more on Abram. “We came in through the U.S. army base here, Lakeheath or whatever.”

Stuart groaned at that. “RAF Lakenheath, you ignorant wanker, _RAF_.” When Kevin just stared at him, he rolled his eyes. “Royal Air Force, it’s one of _ours_. You Yanks are just squatting.”

The royal air force base – that would explain why none of the alerts went off, if they didn’t come through a civilian airport like Heathrow or a private one, Abram thought as he gazed at Jamie. Lakenheath had the largest U.S. presence on it, which was probably why Harker had chosen it, even if it was farther from London than other bases, would make it easier to mask Riko and Nathan’s presences, to hide flying them in and out.

“How are we going to get in there?” Abram asked as he set his coffee aside barely touched, his stomach twisting at the thought of how well Nathan had planned things, how determined he was to hold on to his power, to get his hands on Abram. How he now had _Andrew_.

“We’ll figure it out,” Stuart assured him. “Just wait. We’ll get on that base somehow and get them back.” His uncle shifted forward, closer to Kevin. “Who’s all with them, eh? Nathan and Riko? How many people did they bring, other than the Yank Fed or whoever he is?”

Kevin glanced over at Will, whom he’d probably already told that bit of information to already, and then back at Stuart when Will didn’t say anything. “Ah, there’s Jean, Jean Moreau.” He looked at Abram again for a moment with an odd expression, something almost pleading. “He’s working with me, he wants out, too, but there’s only so much he can do with Riko there.”

There was only so much one man could do when surrounded with a bunch of psychopaths, in other words. And if Jean hadn’t done anything to escape before then, Abram didn’t know how much Andrew could count on him now, but still, it was something.

“Riko brought about fifteen people with him, but Nathan only a couple, and none of his – no one recognizable, Harker insisted,” Kevin said while shaking his head. “No one’s supposed to know he left the country.”

Because Nathan was still on probation for the felony coercion and harassment charges, the only charges the police had ever been able to take to court against him.

“There were five in the SUV the Met caught,” Jamie told her father. “Three bodies found at Ally’s – two from Abram and one from a gunshot wound.”

Kevin’s complexion paled even further and he gagged once. “Wait, I… did I kill someone?” Nick was quick to grab a rubbish bin before Kevin threw up on the table.

Jamie eyed the striker with disdain while the rest of the room sipped their coffee, save for Abram who fingered his knives and wished that he’d been able to take out more of Riko’s men before he’d been subdued. “Someone shot the bastard, all I know is that’s eight less people to worry about. Did he have anyone waiting here for him? Riko or Nathan?”

Kevin gagged a few more times then spat in the bin, and Jason was kind enough to hand him some napkins to wipe his face. “A few… Riko, I mean. There were the girls… women, I mean,” he said with a wince when Jamie’s expression turned cold, “the women who tricked Ally. One of them was a Raven. Ex-Raven,” he said, his voice quiet and a little slurred, probably from shock.

“How did she get through our background check?” Will asked, his expression sliding from the thoughtful mask it had been most of the time that Abram had been into the room to something distinctly stormy.

“I don’t know,” Kevin said, even though the question hadn’t been posed to him. “She was only on the team during the preseason before she blew out her shoulder, and I got the impression she’s been here for a while. Ally acted like he knew her really well.” He winced as he wiped his mouth again. “Acted like it… well, when Riko showed up and everything.”

When Ally found out that one of his ‘girlfriends’ had been stringing him along for a year or two, probably, just waiting for the right time to betray him, to turn him over to a Moriyama. Ally wasn’t foolish enough to imagine that most of his ‘dates’ loved him, not when he dropped in and out of their lives all of the time, when he showed up in expensive clothes and fancy cars to throw money around, but he expected them to use him for that money, not because he was a Hatford.

The bloody fool. The bloody damn fool, who right now was in the hands of Nathan Wesninski and Riko Moriyama. Abram would feel pity for his cousin, except Andrew was right there next to Ally. Except Tori had died because Ally wanted to have some ‘fun’.

Judging from the way that Jamie had her eyes closed and was muttering beneath her breath, she was cursing out her brother, too, and there was pain on Will’s face. Yet he pushed it aside after a couple of seconds and shook his head. “So probably a few we’ve missed, and whatever Cojocaru bastards they dragged in as well.”

“It’s not too bad,” Stuart argued. “We’ve got more than enough of our own to deal with that.”

“But we can’t do anything if we can’t get on the base,” Abram pointed out, his voice ragged with the thought of Andrew in his father’s hands, with how long it would take them to figure out a way to get enough people on the air force base – to even _get_ there. Lakenheath was over a hundred kilometers away, and how much time had they wasted with meeting up here, with fussing over him and everything?

Stuart gave him a tentative pat on the right arm, which made Abram flinch. “It’ll be all right, kiddo, you’ll see. Day fucked up their plans by getting you out of Ally’s house, and they can’t be happy about losing their men, either. They’ll need to regroup and figure out what to do next, and they can’t do too much to Ally and the mi- to Andrew. Right now, those two are their best hope to get their hands on you and then get out of here without drawing any more attention to themselves.”

It didn’t mean that Ally and Andrew would be kept safe, did it? Abram rubbed his hands over his upper arms, just about the only part of him that didn’t throb in pain just then, and shook his head. “I don’t think it’s safe to make any assumptions right now,” he said before he stumbled out of the room, desperate for some space so he could sit down and think of some way to save Andrew.

******

“What is it?”

Andrew swallowed a groan of pain while he focused on Riko talking to the man dressed in neatly pressed khaki pants and a navy polo shirt, who had just ended a phone call.

“It seems your people have conveniently gone missing from the MPS’s system. I think someone’s sticking their nose in where it doesn’t belong.” The man – Andrew thought he’d heard the name ‘Harker’ – didn’t appear pleased at the moment.

Nathan stood up from the table he’d been sitting on, busy cleaning one of the knives he’d put to use on a now whimpering Ally, a glower on his face. “So what, they’re gone now? We can’t take care of them or bail them out?”

The man gave the Butcher a cold smile. “Nice to see that you catch on so quickly. Yes, it seems that somehow, the Hatfords have managed to snatch them away, and between them and Day’s defection, this leaves us exposed and down a few people.”

Riko gave a negligent wave with his right hand. “I can have-”

“I can’t keep issuing passes,” Harker warned, his expression displeased as he shoved his phone into his back pocket. “This was supposed to be a quick and easy extraction with minimal fuss, and there’s already been a gunfight in an upper-class neighborhood, followed by a high speed chase, and now five loose ends. _Five_ ,” he stressed while he held up his left hand with the fingers spread out. “As of now, you’re on a timer – get Nathaniel back by tomorrow night or that’s it, you’re on your own.”

Nathan took a step toward the man while radiating pure menace. “Do you want to make an ultimatum like that? How to you expect to back it up?”

Harker smiled without any sign of fear. “Because you can’t get off this base without me, and whenever I fail to report in, our agreement is null and void. Not only do you lose the only support that you have, how do you think Ichiro will take finding out about your little double-cross?”

The sound grinding out of Nathan just then would be amusing to hear, if Andrew wasn’t certain that the frustration and rage wouldn’t soon be aimed at him and Ally, two very convenient targets. As it was, Riko was cursing in Japanese and lashed out at Jean, who had gotten a little too close as he came over to listen to Harker, Riko’s fist catching the backliner on the left cheek – right around the ‘3’ tattoo.

“I’ll have Junior by then,” Nathan swore as he clenched his hands and spun around. “Tony, bring the fuck-up’s phone,” he barked out as he stomped over to grab Ally by the hair once more and haul him back up onto his knees, Ally biting onto another whimper of pain; his chest still oozed blood from Nathan’s last ‘bout’ of attention, the thirteen slashes bright red lines crusted with bits of dried blood. “We’re going to send Junior and his family some incentive.”

“Luh-” Andrew coughed, his throat thick with blood and mucus, and struggled to clear it. “Leave ‘im the fuck alone.”

“I’ll get to you soon, Minyard,” Nathan warned, while a tall, heavyset man dressed in jeans and a leather jacket held Ally’s phone up, the bright light signaling that it was in video mode. “This is for you, William,” Nathan sneered as he pulled out the large knife sheathed behind his back. “Such a disappointment, this one, I know how that is.” He clicked his tongue as he dragged the tip of the knife along Ally’s face, while Ally closed his eyes and seemed to do his best to steel himself for what was to come. “See he doesn’t even have that damn tattoo your bastards are so proud of, that even Mary had.” His lips twisted in disgust as he dug the blade into the British flag that Ally had tattooed on his upper right shoulder. “Had to see it every time she took off her shirt, until I burned it off of her. Fucking scar was better than that ugly thing.” Ally’s teeth bit into his split lower lip when Nathan used the knife to skin off the tattoo, a high-pitched sound escaping him all the same. “Least _my_ boy earned the right to wear one, just like that cunt who bore him.”

Nathan slapped Ally with the flat of the blade, the edge slashing a line along the Hatford’s left cheek. “Give me Nathaniel for this pathetic fuck-up, and maybe he’ll learn something from today. Maybe. If you don’t, I’ll keep carving him up, piece by piece.”

Then he came over to Andrew bearing a cruel smile and a bloody knife. “Now you, you’re for Nathaniel,” he said while Andrew gave him a bored look. “You earn that tattoo killing people for Junior?”

Andrew didn’t fight the thick fingers grasping his hair and yanking it hard enough to hurt, to force him to rise up higher on his knees. “He does pretty good killing people himself,” Andrew said, his tone as even as possible. “His mother taught him well.”

He fought not to hiss at the slash across his chest, right through his tattoo. “I bet he likes you,” Nathan said as he sliced through the tattoo again. “You’re a mouthy bastard, just like her. You watch over him, just like she did – well, she _tried_ ,” Nathan taunted. “Just like you _tried_.” Another slash, vertical instead of horizontal that time, as if he was making a fucking tic-tac-toe board over the damn thing. “Are you happy, Junior? Happy watching the people who try to protect you bleed for you?” Nathan asked as he turned a little more toward the phone recording everything. “I remember how you only ever really cried when I was beating the whore. How does it feel to see this, hmm?” He shifted aside a little more as he held the bloody knife in the air.

“ _Don’t_ ,” Andrew said in Mandarin. “ _Stay safe_ ,” he ordered his idiot, and then bit his tongue when the knife pressed into his left cheek, right below his eye.

“Shut up,” Nathan told him. “Watch this, Nathaniel. You know what you need to do if you want it to stop.” Then he dragged the blade down to Andrew’s jaw while Andrew struggled not to scream – not only once but three times before he let go of Andrew’s hair.

“I’m waiting for you, Junior. Time for you to come home,” Nathan said, and Andrew had never hated anyone as much as he did just then – not Drake, not Tilda, _no one_. Not because of what Nathan had done to him, but what Nathan planned to do to Abram, what he planned on letting Riko do to his own fucking blood. All so he could continue hurting people for his own sick pleasure a bit longer, so he could be the fucking _Butcher_ for a few more years. Would set up Riko as the head of his own twisted little empire, would allow Evermore to churn out more broken Ravens, just to hold on to the glory for that much longer.

Andrew would drag him down, even if he had to pull the bastard into the grave with him. He panted through the pain as he made that promise to himself.

*******

Abram tapped the flat of the blade he held in his left hand against the table while he struggled to control his temper, while he fought to ignore the pain that throbbed in his head, in his hip, in… well, in most of his body, but those were the two worst points at the moment, other than the terrible clenching _ache_ he felt in his chest whenever he thought about Andrew. “ _I don’t understand why he can’t spare a few minutes to talk to me_ ,” he argued in Mandarin with Li, Jain’s aide. “ _This is important, could impact Xue and-”_

“ _I’ve told you, he’s very busy right now_ ,” Li said, his usually smooth voice now containing a hint of exasperation. “ _His schedule is full and it’s very late here_.”

“ _I know that_.” Abram had to take a deep breath to keep from snapping. “ _But several things have happened here. Nathan Wesninski and Riko Moriyama are in London, you **need** to tell him that,” _ he repeated. _“This is a chance to weaken Ichiro Moriyama once and for all._ ”

Things were quiet on the other end for a moment, save for the sound of typing and the faint murmur of voices in the background. “ _I’ve already passed that on, but I don’t see what_ -”

“ _We need access_ ,” Abram said, doing his best to keep the desperation out of his voice. “ _Jain has the business contacts we need to get onto Lakenheath_.”

Li fell quiet again, long enough for Abram to wonder if he’d finally gotten through to the man. “ _To rescue your guard_ ,” he said, and the reserve in his voice warned Abram that he wasn’t going to like what came next. “ _That is asking a lot to save an underling, Hatford_.”

‘Hatford’, not ‘Abram’. “ _My cousin is there, too_ ,” he reminded Li… except it wasn’t Li, not really. The words were coming from Jain.

Li continued on as if Abram hadn’t interrupted. “ _You’re asking a lot, to use those contacts. One would expect adequate compensation_.”

The breath caught in Abram’s throat as he realized what Jain expected from him in return for the Chinese man’s ‘cooperation’, and for a moment all he could think about were all those nights in various hotel rooms, was him lying on all those beds with Jain – he closed his eyes and shuddered as he reminded himself that it would get him Andrew, would save his friend and his cousin.

Then he thought about what Andrew would do when he found out what Abram had bargained for in his absence.

“ _Give me a few minutes to decide_ ,” Abram lied before he ended the call without giving Li any time to answer, his hands trembling as he set the phone down, as that terrible ache threatened to destroy him for a few seconds. He fought to breathe through the pain, to push it down, and after what felt to be an agonizing eternity, grabbed his phone and stood up.

His right leg threatened to give way beneath him, and Bren came rushing toward him to help, to hover nearby when Abram managed to stay on his feet after all. The man followed like an anxious shadow while Abram slowly made his way over to where Jamie was sitting, surrounded by a couple of coffee cups and several sheets of paper and even some holstered guns while she scanned something on a tablet.

“Sit down,” Bren urged, but Abram shook his head while he leaned his good hip against the desk instead; he couldn’t rest, not after seeing the video his father had sent less than an hour ago, not after having the sight of Andrew’s bloody and cut face stuck in his mind. If he didn’t give himself over by tomorrow morning, it would be that much worse for his friend.

“Some tea, please?”

“Right.” Bren stared after him for a couple of seconds as if to make sure that Abram wouldn’t tip over, then hurried away to fetch the drink while Jamie eyed him with some trepidation.

“You look like shit – have you eaten at all?”

Like she was one to talk, Abram thought as he rubbed at his neck, then winced. “Uhm, some breakfast.” That had been right before they’d gotten the call from ‘Ally’. “Oh, and a scone.” It was difficult to believe that with everything that had happened so far that day, it wasn’t even evening yet.

“Get him some food, too,” she called after Bren, then looked back at Abram. “How did it go with Jain?” When Abram continued to stare at his phone, she sighed. “It was a long-shot, little cousin, getting him to risk his contacts like that.”

“No, he’ll do it,” he admitted, which made Jamie’s head snap up from whatever she’d been reading on her tablet. “It’s just… he won’t do it for free.”

“So what does he want?” When Abram met her eyes and didn’t say anything, her mouth twisted in anger. “Tell me you didn’t, Ram.” The words came out slowly, but with the forceful precision Jamie used when she was furious, which always put the people who knew her on edge because a furious Jamie could be a deadly Jamie. “I will shoot that bastard before I let you go back to him, especially if he uses _this_ to get you!”

“No,” he said, suddenly tired and a bit grateful that Jamie wasn’t angry at him letting a chance at saving Ally slip by like that. “I… I couldn’t. Andrew would throttle me.” A weak chuckle escaped as he rubbed at his sore face. “That’s if he’s still alive after all of this.”

Jamie leaned over the desk to pat his left arm. “He will be, you’ll see. That _prick_ was careful with what he did to him, to them both. You saw.”

All Abram had seen was his friend bleed for him, to choke back on the pain that his father had caused in his name.

“We’ll figure something out, Dad and Stuart are doing what they can to find out everything possible about the base, about who they can use to get them on it. It’s only a matter of time before they’ll find someone,” Jamie assured him. “We’ll figure it out.”

In time? Before morning, and without the Hatfords going even more into debt, all because of Abram? He took a deep breath and shook his head as he held onto his phone with both hands and gazed at his cousin. “Jame… I’m going to do what you told me to do.”

“Huh?” His cousin stared at him in confusion while she checked the cups scattered around her as if looking for any remaining coffee. “What was that? Get some rest? Have a bite to eat?”

“No, something else.” He gave her a sad smile. “I’m going to do something very selfish, all right? Try not… it’s nothing against you or the family, I promise. But I just….” He shuddered as he shook his head. “I think it’ll work, and it’ll get them back. That’s all that matters.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, the confusion changing into understanding as a gentle smile curled her lips. “You’re going to get Andrew back, aren’t you?”

“Yes,” he said as he pulled up a number on his phone and dialed it, then put it on speakerphone so she could listen in.

“Abram, this isn’t quite unexpected,” Lloyd said by way of greeting when he answered the call. “But I’m sorry, as I’ve already told most of your family, there isn’t much more I can do. I helped get those fine young gentlemen released to your uncle’s custody and their paperwork lost so that cancels out your favor, but that’s it I’m afraid. My hands are tied when it comes to Lakenheath – orders from above. I’m not to get involved in contractor affairs.” He actually did sound a bit apologetic, but Lloyd had always been a good actor. Abram remembered very well the little act Lloyd had put on not too long ago.

Taking as deep a breath as his bruised ribs would allow, Abram braced himself for what he was about to do. “How about a new favor, then?”

Lloyd was quiet for a moment. “I don’t know what your family can offer right now,” he admitted. “Like I said, there’s other things to consider here.”

“It’s not what my family has to offer, but _me_ ,” Abram stressed while Bren returned with a mug of tea and a chicken salad sandwich someone must have run out to fetch. He nodded to the man in thanks and set them down on Jamie’s desk. “I believe you had said something about a job?”

Lloyd was quiet once again for a few seconds. “You’re on speakerphone, yes?”

“Yes.”

“Which one’s there with you? Jamie? Stuart?”

“I’m here,” Jamie called out.

“You going to fight this?” Lloyd asked, his voice intent.

“It’s his choice,” Jamie said, while Bren looked on in confusion. “If this is what he wants, I’m not going to stop him. But you better treat him right or it’ll be your body that disappears.”

Lloyd huffed at that. “I’ve been trying to recruit him for five years, I’m not going to waste a valuable asset like him,” he insisted with a hurt tone. “So let me get this straight, you’re finally going to come work for me, but I have to help out with your little problem first, correct?”

“Consider it my signing bonus,” Abram said while he attempted to stop his hands from trembling; if Lloyd continued to say that he couldn’t help them, he didn’t know where else to turn. At least, anywhere else other than Jain. Andrew was going to kill him for going back to Jain – but at least he’d be alive to do it.

There was laughter over the phone, which startled Abram from his dark thoughts. “Oh, you just made my day, Abram. Finally bagging you _and_ I get to tweak some Yanks on the nose? _Banner_ day all around!”

Jamie frowned at that while Bren appeared ready to cry for some reason. “Wait, I thought you said you couldn’t do anything.”

“I said I couldn’t get involved in a _contractor_ issue,” Lloyd clarified. “Now it’s an _employee_ issue.” He laughed some more. “Splitting hairs a little, but the director’s still jacked at what the Yanks pulled – well, sorry, only Abram has the clearance for that, or will.”

“Treat him right,” Jamie repeated in that threatening tone of hers. “Or else.”

“Yes, yes, you’re at the Harringay office, right?” Lloyd sighed then continued before anyone could answer, but Abram had a feeling he already knew the answer. “I’ll be there in less than an hour, we’ve got lots of things to do. Ta.” Lloyd sounded much too happy when he hung up, but Abram supposed that was good.

If it got him Andrew back before morning, it was more than good.

He let out a slow breath while he picked up the tea, his fingertips tingling for some reason. Meanwhile, Bren shuffled closer, that sorrowful expression still on his broad face. “You’re… you’re _quitting_ us?”

“Bren… he had to do it,” Jamie explained, her expression a bit pensive and voice quiet. “It’s the only way we’re going to get Ally and Andrew back in time.” She hesitated a moment before reaching out to give Abram’s shoulder a quick shake. “I’ll go let Dad know what’s going on.”

Abram nodded before he returned his attention to Bren. “I’m sorry, but I couldn’t think of anything else,” he confessed with a slight, regretful smile. “Nothing that wouldn’t cost the family too much or take too long.”

Bren made as if to reach for Abram then seemed to think better of it. “What’s it going to cost you, though?” he asked, the words quiet but heartfelt.

Abram’s smile faltered, which he did his best to hide behind the rim of the mug; it was Earl Grey, which made him wonder if he looked that bad, that Bren had made it for him for a reason. “Does it matter, if it gets us Andrew back? Andrew and Ally?”

“I think Andrew might have something to say about it,” Bren told him, his expression still solemn. “Might have a lot to say, in fact. He tends to get all stabby over you, you know.”

“He needs to be alive to be all ‘stabby’,” Abram reminded his friend. “And you heard Lloyd, he’s happy about this. He’s not going to do anything too bad to me.” He forced the smile back on his lips. “It’ll be a lot of translating and stuff.”

“Yeah, because we haven’t been doing anything nasty for him over the years.” Bren shook his head and picked up the sandwich, which he held out to Abram. “Just drink your tea and eat, all right? Andrew’s going to be grouchy enough when he sees you looking like this.” Bren gestured to Abram, who thought he looked… well, the suit hid most of the bandages.

He’d managed to eat about half of the sandwich, too anxious and still in too much pain to do any better than that, when a furious Stuart came storming over to Jamie’s desk with Davis not far behind. “You bloody _fool_ ,” his uncle ground out with his hands covered in blood, which was splattered over his light blue dress shirt; Abram was going to guess that he’d been busy ‘questioning’ the men turned over to them by the Met. “What did you do?”

“What I had to,” Abram said as he forced himself to stand on both feet; once more, Bren hovered by his side in case he needed support or to stop him from falling right over. While he faced Stuart, Jamie, Will and Liz came out of a nearby office. “Could _you_ find anyone to get us on the base?” he asked with a bit of heat. “Anyone willing to face the wrath of the RAF?”

Stuart had the grace to glance aside for a moment. “We were figuring something out, you fool. You didn’t have to go and offer yourself up like that!”

Abram shook his head despite the pain and dizziness. “We don’t have the time.” He rubbed his right hand along his abdomen, along the old scars hidden beneath his clothes – scars similar to the new ones which Ally now bore. “We need to end this sooner rather than later, and Lloyd can get us on that base with the least amount of effort or risk.” However Harker had managed it, it was still English soil, was a Royal Air Force base, even if he was hiding Nathan and Riko on an American part of it.

“I don’t-”

“He’s right, Stu,” Will said, his tone final and his face lined with weariness and pain, his appearance the most aged that Abram had ever seen it despite his back still being straight and head held high. The threat of losing Ally was wearing on him, as had seeing his youngest child being cut into like that, but he was holding it together for the sake of the organization. The little Abram had seen of Aunt Miriam, she was doing the same, somewhere else in the warehouse – probably busy coaxing whatever bits of information she could get out of Kevin, since he had always responded well to matronly figures, according to Andrew.

“But-”

“No, it’s his decision, and we’ll respect it. Besides, we’ve had a long association with the MI6, it’s not like he’s going that far away from us,” Will said with a slight smile. “Imagine we’ll still be cleaning up after him.”

That seemed to cheer up Bren, for some odd reason.

“I’m not a damn cat,” Abram grumbled, then glared when Bren petted him on the head.

Still, Bren’s antics made even Will smile a little, before he fixed Stuart with a stern look. “Get as much information out of those men as possible. I want to be able to move as soon Lloyd shows up.” Then he turned to Jamie. “Have our people ready, only the ones you trust not to mess this up – I want ability, not numbers for something like this.” She nodded while she hurried past him with Liz on her heels. Abram braced himself for whatever his uncle had to say, but all Will did was nod at him then look at Bren. “Get him off his feet before he falls down.”

“Yes, sir.”

“But I can-”

Will reached over to tousle Abram’s hair. “You did the hard part, Ram, now sit down for a spell. We’ll need you when we get to Lakenheath.”

“… yes sir,” Abram said with only a little resentment; he’d endured worse when on the run with his mother, so he didn’t understand why they were so worried about him. Still, he allowed Bren to lead him away, until something occurred to him. “Let me talk to Kevin.”

“Long as you talk while sitting on your arse,” Bren said, and huffed when Abram nodded. “Okay.” They changed direction to the one room Abram remembered seeing Kevin in earlier, and he wasn’t surprised to find Aunt Miriam sitting in there with a cup of tea between her hands while Kevin held his head cradled between his own. For some reason, the striker once again appeared relieved to see Abram.

“Ram, should you be walking around?” Aunt Miriam asked as she rose to her feet to give him a kiss on the cheek, while Ramya nodded to him from her position across the room. “You look exhausted, sweetheart.”

“I’m fine,” he mumbled as he sat down, wincing all the while because of his hip; that was getting old very, very quickly.

“Bren, some more tea please, and something for Ram to eat – Kevin could use something too.”

“Already on it,” Bren told Miriam with a respectful bow of the head. Meanwhile, Abram sighed and wondered why everyone was trying to shove something down his throat.

As soon as he was settled in the chair, Aunt Miriam reached for his hands, while Abram fought to remain still. “I’ve heard what you did. Thank you,” she told him while she gave his hands a gentle squeeze and Kevin stared on in confusion. “You didn’t have to do that, Will would have figured out something, but it’ll get Ally and Andrew back to us sooner.” Something dark flashed through her blue eyes for a moment. “You call me if they don’t treat you right, yes? We can’t have that.”

He was certain that Stuart and Jamie would have something to say about it, but somehow he didn’t doubt that Aunt Miriam would manage to suitably cow Lloyd if the man turned out to be a hellish employer. “I will,” he told her, at the least to give her one less thing to worry about then.

Meanwhile, Kevin eyed him with some confusion. “Uhm, am I missing something here?”

Abram attempted to shrug, but it hurt too much. “I managed to find a way for us to get onto the air force base,” he explained.

“Okay.” Kevin seemed to wait for more of an answer than that, then sighed when Abram just sat there. “Okay,” he repeated. “I’ve told Miriam and the others everything I know. We didn’t stay very long on the base, just flew in and then grabbed a few things before heading into London, really.”

“Jason tapped into his phone and looked up the GPS,” Miriam told Abram. “It’s proved helpful.”

Abram assumed that Jason had gotten around the GPS being used against them, but Jason knew his tech. “I imagine that Stuart will get more out of the others.”

Kevin winced at that. “You’re really… how can you do that?” he asked with a strain to his voice as he cupped his left hand with his right.

“I don’t think you should ask that,” Abram said, his expression cold. “We’ve heard all about what happens in the Nest, heard what Riko does to his ‘own’.” What Riko might be doing to Andrew right then, Andrew and Ally.

That statement made Kevin flinch and shake his head. “He….” Then he laughed, the sound broken as he held up his left hand. “It wasn’t always like that.”

“Maybe, maybe not.” Abram fell quiet as Bren returned with a tray, on which there were a few lidded cups and more sandwiches. The enforcer gave him a pointed look as he put down a cup and a wrapped grilled cheese sandwich in front of Abram, then handed Miriam and Ramya some tea, leaving Kevin to help himself to what smelled to be coffee and another chicken salad sandwich.

“Do you have any… uhm, never mind,” Kevin said when Bren turned to give him a cold stare. “This is fine.”

“No requests,” Bren snapped, until Miriam gave him an even look. “Unless you’re allergic to something.”

“Well, there’s mayonnaise in here, but….” Kevin once more wilted under Bren’s look. “No, it’s fine.”

Abram remembered Andrew complaining once about Kevin’s strict diet and felt the urge to smile, which he stifled. “I’m sure he can find you a regular chicken sandwich next time.”

The look Kevin gave him was one of relief as he took a small bite of the sandwich, as if being polite. “That would be great,” Kevin said as after he swallowed, while Bren waved his hands at Abram to make him pick up his own sandwich. “I need to get back in shape to play.” Then Kevin’s expression crumpled. “What’s going to happen to Riko? I mean… fuck,” he said as he set the sandwich down. “He’s not going back, is he?”

Abram glanced at Miriam, to see if she wanted to handle this; had Kevin really not thought things through? Had he believed that Riko would only get his hands slapped for killing people and then be allowed to play Exy again?

“Day… Kevin,” Miriam said, her voice the even, soothing one Abram remembered from when he first arrived in London, when he’d been tucked in one of the spare bedroom’s in Stuart’s townhouse while healing from – when he’d been stressed out and terrified of everyone, and Aunt Miriam had come close to talk to him, to assure him that things would be all right and that the family welcomed him, that they still wanted him. “He’s done things, terrible things, him and his brother. I’m sorry but we can’t let him go or else he’ll just continue to do those terrible things.”

“We were supposed to be brothers,” Kevin explained, his voice so small and uncertain as if he was a child and not a grown man. “We were supposed to be inseparable, one and two.”

“He was the one who broke that,” Abram reminded the striker. “He let his jealousy get in the way. You have to let him go, because he does nothing but destroy everything he touches,” he said, remembering something Andrew had told him before.

Kevin was quiet for several seconds, and then he let out a long, shuddering breath. “I know,” he agreed. “I know.” He wiped at his eyes then reached for his coffee. “I’m doing it for her,” he said, his voice quiet again but more certain – it was defiant for once, and the words sounded like a mantra. “I’m doing it for her. I’m done being number two. I’m done letting them walk all over us.”

He kept repeating the words over again several times, while Abram forced himself to drink his tea and eat the grilled cheese sandwich under Miriam’s and Bren’s watchful gazes. It wasn’t long after he’d finished his meal and was wondering if he could ask for some more paracetamol when Miriam’s phone pinged.

Her expression was mild when she lifted it from the table, at least until she noticed the caller ID; the way her expression hardened made Abram sit up in an instant despite the protest from his wounds and sore muscles as well as had Ramya at her side within seconds. Miriam didn’t hesitate to accept the text, and Abram flinched when he heard his father’s voice fill the room. “Hello, Miriam. I’ve something special for you.”

“Should I-”

“No,” Miriam told Ramya. “He’s sending it to me for a reason, and I refuse to play into his hands. Stay.” Her expression remained fixed as Ally’s screams filled the room, and Abram refused to close his eyes, to imagine what his father was doing to his cousin. Across the table, Kevin groaned and Bren went to fetch another bin just in time.

“That’s another tattoo down – such soft skin he has, is he really the second boy? Maybe I’ll check come morning, if Abram isn’t here by then.” There was a low moan and the sound of laughter over the phone. “You know what I want, Miriam. Convince your husband to give it to me and you’ll get back what remains of your child. I know how… attached you mothers can be.” Then the video ended.

Abram remained still while Miriam stared at her phone a little longer, then placed it back down on the desk with a false lightness. “Your mother should have slit his throat one night while he slept,” she remarked in an almost civil tone.

Kevin gagged into the bin while Abram nodded. “It would have simplified things if she had.” Probably gotten herself and Abram killed when Lola and the others found out, but yes, it would have simplified things.

“Well, you know what they say about hindsight.” Miriam tapped her manicured fingers against the table twice then shook her head. “One must look on the bright side, I suppose. We’ll finally be rid of him soon enough, and perhaps Ally will learn something for once.” Her voice only hitched a little when she mentioned her son.

“Mir… I can go get Will,” Ramya offered.

“ _No_ ,” Miriam repeated. “That’s what he wants. He wants me to become hysterical, to prod Will into acting without thinking. I won’t let that happen,” she insisted while she reached out to pat Abram’s hand. “We wait for Lloyd.”

“Oh, I want a drink,” Kevin moaned.

Miriam gave him a reproachful look. “If you still feel that way after this is done, you’ll have it. Not until then.”

“Great,” Kevin whined while he lay his head down on the table and sighed as if full of abject misery. Abram felt tempted for a moment to make that happen, but was too tired and sore to do more than twitch a little.

Fortunately for his nerves, it didn’t take Lloyd an hour to arrive; he arrived early smiling and dressed in dark grey cargo pants and a black t-shirt, a far cry from his usual cheap suits or casual wear. “Abram! I have something for you,” he cried out when he spotted Abram coming out of the one room, while Stuart appeared to be trying to mentally will death on the agent, he was glaring at him with such outright loathing at the moment.

“Is it an access pass to Lakenheath?”

“Something better,” Lloyd declared as he pulled out some folded papers from his back left pocket. “I need you to sign these before we go any further.”

“What are they?” Jamie asked as she came over to Abram, having changed out of her suit into dark pants similar to thick leggings and a long, lightweight jacket that came down to mid-thigh with lots of pockets that was loose enough to hide a kevlar vest. In fact, most of the people gathered in the warehouse had changed into outfits they could fight in, except for Abram, Bren, and Stuart.

Lloyd sighed in an exaggerated manner as he looked around and then went over to the nearest flat surface, then pulled out a pen as well before motioning at Abram to come over. “I’m not doing anything until he signs a contract stating that he’s working for me.” When Stuart went for his gun, Lloyd groaned. “Come now, it’s nothing unusual, just saying that he swears to the background check – unnecessary in this case – that he won’t breach any security and confidentiality agreements under pain of incarceration or worse – look, I need something to prove that he is indeed an employee and so he can’t go ‘sorry, changed my mind’ once this is all said and done, all right? There’s no tricks in there, I promise.”

Abram nudged Jamie aside and went over to the desk, pain stabbing him in the right side with every step. “Fine, let’s do this so we can get moving.”

“So eager, it’s going to be great having you on the team.” Lloyd beamed at him. “How soon can you learn Arabic?”

Reminding himself that he needed the man alive and whole to get them onto the base, Abram just gave him a sliver of a smile while he signed the papers on the marked spots. “Not until we get Andrew and Ally back.”

“All right, I suppose that’s fair,” Lloyd grumbled as he pulled out his phone to take pictures of the paperwork before folding it back up.

Before he could step away from the desk, Jamie got in his face. “Rescue mission first, and _then_ we’ll talk about Abram’s new job. Don’t think it’s settled just yet,” she warned.

“He’s mine now,” Lloyd reminded her with a cold smile, and then he shook his head. “But you’re right, we’ll get into that particular pissing match later. So, here’s what I bring to this party.” He motioned for everyone to gather around; Abram noticed that in addition to Liz, Jason and Marcus, Jamie had called in Andrea, Ravi, Robbie, Nadav, Callie, Ella, Becca, Frankie and Pat. There was Uncle Will and Miriam, too, along with their people, so a little less than twenty people all in all, since Uncle Stuart and Bren would be with Abram.

“I’ve got clearance for everyone – as far as you lot are concerned, Lakenheath will be turning a blind eye to your presence tonight. Just the _RAF_ side of it,” Lloyd warned as he started tapping on his phone while nodding toward Jamie. “Check your email, I just sent you detailed maps of the base. I was talking with a contact while on my way here, and she’s certain that they’re located in what was an unused hanger on the U.S. part of the base.” He looked up from his phone to fix all of them with a cold stare while Jamie was busy swiping on hers. “Need I give a long, boring speech about how you don’t fuck with anything but the hanger? You go in, get your two people and leave a nice, tidy mess to remind the Yanks why they don’t try to pull this shite on our soil. Emphasis on ‘nice’ and ‘tidy’.”

Stuart appeared as if he had just swallowed something rather bitter at the moment. “So what, you take Ram from us for security passes and an ‘it’s this one’? What the bloody fuck?” He looked ready to step forward before Will clamped him on the shoulder.

Lloyd gave him a thin smile, his eyes possessing a hard shine that was usually masked by his ‘friendly’ persona. “You know that there was no way in hell you could have gotten onto that base without some help, and what the consequences would be if you snuck in there with false credentials and caused a fuss. You’re helpful, Stuart, you and your family. You keep the more bothersome riff-raff under control like a good rat-catcher, but you’re still criminals. Push too far or too hard, and the powers that be will come down on you in the end.”

“They’ll be slitting their own throats, considering all we have on them, but let’s pretend that we’re all friends here, yes,” Will reminded Lloyd with a bit of darkness of his own. “Like you said, it’s no time for a pissing match.”

Lloyd huffed at that. “Yes, the best of friends. Now, do you all have the plans?” He looked over at Jamie, who had schooled her expression to one of concentration as if to push aside the recent argument, and smiled, the expression more genuine, when she nodded. “Good, let’s get to work since we’ve a bit of a drive ahead of us.”

Abram pulled out his phone to look at the plans, even though he was serving as the ‘distraction’, just in case. There was another message from Li, which he ignored, as he focused on what needed to be done to save Andrew.

*******

Andrew allowed a little of the hate he felt to show on his face as he looked up at Nathan, even if it earned him a hit to the side of his head which sent him sprawling back onto the blood splattered floor. He heard laughter while he fought not to black out, as he tumbled onto his slashed arms; Nathan had rebound his wrists with his arms in front of him, so he could carve new lines in them, lines going against the old, silvery scars from when Andrew had cut into himself all those years ago. At least he’d landed on his right side, sparing the additional pain of smashing the injured side of his face into concrete, but it was a small ‘blessing’ at that point.

“Tomorrow morning it’ll be the tendons,” he heard the man say, probably into the camera. “If you want your dog back able to jump and fetch, you better come soon, Junior.”

Fingers grasped Andrew’s hair once more (he was going to shave it off if he lived through this, dammit), and he found himself staring up at a pleased Riko. “Not so smug now, are you?” the sadistic prick taunted. “Oh, you never showed it before, but I could always tell. You took such great pride in blocking me from the goal, from blocking me from Kevin. From blocking me from Nathaniel. But now you’ve failed in all of those things.”

Andrew cleared his sore throat as best he could before he spoke. “You-you’re the failure. Never got Daddy to look at you, and now Ichiro,” he taunted, and smiled just a little when Riko’s face contorted with rage. He didn’t even care when he was slapped on the shredded side of his face and sent tumbling onto the floor again.

“You little shit,” Riko seethed. “How about… how about I have my men take their turns with you, huh?” He was all but spitting as he spoke, his face twisted into something truly ugly. “If they fuck you like the piece of trash you are? See how sm-“ He lashed out when Jean, face bruised from the last time Riko had flown into a rage, came up beside him. “What?” That time he caught Jean’s right hand and twisted it until Jean cried out in pain.

There was a soft murmur of something in French while Jean panted for a few seconds, and then he shook his head. “We need… just a little longer,” he argued. “Until Nathaniel arrives. Not too much damage.”

“You _dare_ to tell me what to do?” Riko twisted Jean’s hand hard enough that it had to break a finger or two, and would have done something worse except that Harker stepped in, while Nathan merely stood off to the side and talked on his phone.

“He’s right,” the man said, his face drawn in a frown and evident censure in his voice; for a moment Andrew thought Riko would hit him, too, but whoever he was, he had enough authority to make Riko release Jean and step back with a sneer. “Dial back the abuse a bit, we need these two to last until tomorrow night, if you still want them as bargaining chips.”

Riko took to muttering in Japanese as he stomped off like the immature prick he was, while Jean slinked away to tend to his latest injuries. For himself, all Andrew wanted to do was to curl up and sleep, to slip away into oblivion for a while and forget the pain, to forget where he was, but that wasn’t an option. It had to be getting late in the day, judging by how hungry and exhausted he was, but the others showed no sign of ending things for the night. There were bunk beds at one end of the hanger so people could wander off to sleep, but the men had been coming and going the last hour or so to fetch food and drink so they had enough to fuel them to keep them going for a while longer.

A few feet away, Ally was curled up in a ball of misery, stinking of piss and fear and blood, but moving enough now and then for Andrew to know that he was still alive. He continued to show enough defiance to Nathan that he hadn’t broken yet, but Andrew didn’t know how much longer he’d hold out.

For himself, Andrew was getting lightheaded from the lack of water and blood loss, from the pain, but he’d hold on as long as possible. He wasn’t going to let Nathan Wesninski or Riko break him.

Hearing the scuff of leather on the concrete floor startled him from the daze he must have drifted off into, and he forced his eyes open to look around him to find Jean crouched down near Ally. The Frenchman was offering Ally some water, which the pain in the ass unfurled enough to accept with a grateful expression. Not the best sign, but Andrew just forced himself as upright as he could manage and waited to see what Jean did next.

Jean waited for Ally to finish a small bottle of water then took it away from him to come over to Andrew. “You must be thirsty,” he said, his voice quiet and exhausted, with circles beneath his eyes – well, beneath the one that hadn’t been blackened by Riko.

All Andrew did was stare at him with blatant apathy.

They remained in the face-off for about a minute when Jean sighed. “Come now, you need to drink. It’ll make you feel better,” he chided as he crouched down near Andrew. “You haven’t had any for hours.”

No, and Andrew wasn’t in any hurry to piss himself like Ally had and then have the photo sent off to Abram as yet more guilt-inducing incentive. He knew how these things went, after a particular foster home, he could hold it for a long time as long as he didn’t drink much. So what if he was light-headed and all?

“Stop being so stubborn!” Jean hissed as he leaned in closer.

“Un couteau,” Andrew whispered, his voice raspy from the dryness of his throat, but he knew that Jean had heard him from the way that the Frenchman’s eyes had widened. He may not know much French, but he’d made certain to learn all the curses and the names of weapons, among a few other things.

At first he thought that Jean wasn’t going to do anything, because the man went off cursing… and then returned with a knife, a small one. A knife that he brandished in Andrew’s face while holding the bottle of water in his bandaged hand. “Drink this, you cochon,” he snapped. “I am done with your stubbornness. Drink or be stabbed.”

Andrew stared for a moment longer before he gave a slight nod, and noticed how Jean set the knife down by Andrew’s left knee in a negligent manner while he cursed some more over twisting off the lid of the bottle with his injured hand. In the background, Riko laughed at Andrew and congratulated his backliner over showing a bit of spine.

Jean was an asshole and splashed most of the water in Andrew’s face, but that was fine with him – he only allowed himself a couple of swallows, enough to wet his throat and take the edge off the worst of his thirst, and then Jean was gone… but the knife was left behind. Andrew was careful to edge over until his knee covered it, and remained there until he was certain that no one was paying him any attention, then picked it up with care and slid it between his bound wrists.

Riko’s men wandered about the hanger, maybe patrolling the place or maybe looking for something to do. Nathan and Harker spent a lot of time on their phones, probably keeping in touch with contacts in the U.S., while Riko divided his time between his phone, a tablet, haranguing Jean and ‘amusing’ himself by tormenting Andrew and Ally. Andrew was learning to tune it out whenever Riko came over to talk about his plans for Abram, to ignore the words which clearly were meant to send him into a rage. There was no way that the sadistic prick was ever going to touch Abram again, let alone do the things he was going on about. Riko was never going to touch Kevin again, either. Kind of difficult to do anything when a person was dead.

Andrew still owed Riko for Bee, after all.

Dwelling on what he was going to do to Riko and Nathan helped to take his mind off of the pain, of the hunger and thirst, of him growing weaker with each passing hour, off of everything. Of the possibility of Abram being the damn fool martyr and showing up and doing something so incredibly _stupid_.

It had all been too good to be true, in the end, these months in England with Abram, in the townhouse. All the ‘yeses and no’s’, all the smiles and breakfasts and ‘ _hons_ ’. At least Andrew had the illusion that someone would miss him when he was gone, when Abram started bitching about the damn grout and no one had a clue what the hell he meant.

Andrew was startled from his thoughts when there was the sound of a phone ringing, which didn’t happen often – usually it was one of the pricks calling out, not them accepting calls. Andrew forced his aching body upright while he figured out it had been Harker’s phone which had rung, and watched on as the man smiled. “Yes, Colonel?” He turned that pleased smile on Nathan. “Yes, those would be the guests I’ve been expecting, be sure to let them in and have someone escort them to the hanger.” He paused for a moment, his expression turning to annoyance. “Just escort them here and I’ll take care of the rest. Soon enough I’ll be out of your hair,” he said before he hung up.

“Nathaniel’s on his way here, along with three other people – Stuart Hatford, Bren Anders and an Annie Campbell, according to their ID’s,” Harker announced, which made Andrew start inwardly cursing Abram for being even worse of a fool than he had suspected, and Stuart for never smacking Abram down when he deserved it.

Nathan smiled, the expression a thousand times crueler than anything Abram had ever managed, then stalked over to Ally to give him a kick in the ribs. “Oi! Who’s the other two, that Anders and Campbell?”

When Ally groaned in pain, Andrew produced a loud sigh. “Campbell is one of the family’s doctors,” he told the psychotic bastard in as bored a tone he could manage with the pain and his split lips. “I don’t imagine why they’d think we’d need them.” When Nathan came near to loom over him, he continued on as if unaffected of the man’s presence. “Anders is usually assigned to help watch over _Abram_.”

Nathan smacked him on the left side of the face, which made the cuts start bleeding again and Andrew’s vision white out for several seconds. “Mouthy bastard, I didn’t ask you.” Yet he sauntered away and left Ally alone.

“I’d thought William would come,” Riko said as he pulled out his toy blade, excitement evident on his face and in his voice.

Nathan scoffed at that. “They won’t risk it being a trap – Stuart’s expendable. Have to say, it’ll be so nice to see the in-laws again.” There was that disturbed smile again.

Harker shook his head. “No, we do the handover and that’s it, no more fuss! You’ve hurt the Hatfords enough, you’ll get what you need and we go back home.”

‘What they needed’ – Andrew was still trying to figure that out, why a government official was working with two criminals to the extent of sneaking them into a foreign country, on a foreign military base, for what? To help them take down Ichiro? Because as far as he could tell, that was what Nathan and Riko were working toward, especially since it didn’t sound like Riko was planning on handing Abram over to his big brother once things were done. So what, was Nathan trying to prove that he could take down or hurt the Hatfords without Ichiro? That he was stronger? Were they trying to take over the Hatfords and use them against Ichiro? And the U.S. government was helping them… to what? To have some control over that?

All right, he was obviously trying to distract himself from the fact that Abram was on his way to the hanger to do something very, _very_ stupid. Not _even_ Jain level of stupid – this went way beyond that. Andrew eyed Nathan Wesninski as he slid the knife between his wrists down a little further, while he thought about how if he and his idiot survived this, he was getting chocolate chip pancakes every day for _weeks_.

And that was just the start of the payback.

It took a few minutes for Abram and the others to arrive, during which Andrew refused to allow himself to be distracted, to let his mind wander again. He made sure to note where all of Riko’s men were, where Nathan and Riko stood at all times, even Harker though he hadn’t seen the man carry any weapons. For some reason, Jean was busy with his phone at the moment, a deep frown on his face which he was quick to smooth out. Soon enough, there was a deep honk of a horn from outside; Andrew fought not to jump, while Ally took to cursing at the noise.

The doors to the hanger slid open, revealing the fact that it was dark outside. The grinding sound grated on Andrew’s ears, and he noticed that everyone’s attention was focused forward while Harker motioned for a couple of men to grab onto Abram and the others. Abram’s expression was a careful blank mask, while Stuart’s was furious, Bren’s disappointed and Annie’s offended.

Nothing was said while the four of them were patted down, with guns being confiscated from Stuart and Bren, Annie making a sound of protest when someone grabbed her med bag, and Abram’s expression changing to one of pure disdain until he was shoved forward – shoved toward his father.

“Anything to say now, Junior?” Nathan taunted him.

“I still think you’re a sadistic fu-“ Abram’s face, already bruised from Riko’s ‘attention’ earlier in the day, snapped to the side from the force of his father’s blow. Stuart snarled and attempted to lunge forward, only to be held back by two of Riko’s men, the same with Bren.

Andrew struggled to stand up, and found himself dragged by his upper arms forward, along with Ally, while Nathan continued to hit Abram. “You shitty little bastard,” Nathan spat while he knocked his son to the ground, ignoring Stuart’s and Bren’s shouts. “Do you know what you cost me?”

His nose bloody and lips split anew, Abram laughed, the sound mocking despite the evident pain. “Five muh-million?”

Before Nathan could kick him, Riko got in the way. “Don’t break him just yet,” the bastard said while he hauled Abram up by the neck. “I get him since he’s _mine_ ,” he stated, his expression gloating while Abram gasped for air and clawed at Riko’s hands. “You’re not getting away this time,” he told Abram. “Never again.”

“You so much as look as if you’re about to run, I’m cutting your fucking hamstrings,” Nathan promised. “How about that?”

“Leave him the fuck alone!” Stuart shouted. “You sick fuckin’ bastard! I’m going to-“ Nathan silenced him with a punch to the stomach.

“That felt good,” Nathan said with a smile. “And for each additional insult, I’m going to cut your nephew, how about that?” he told a wheezing Stuart. “Now shut the fuck up, you useless bastard. Couldn’t do anything about your sister, and you’re going to just walk away from your nephew, too.”

Nearby, Bren fought against the men holding onto him, his expression one of pure hatred, while Annie looked as if she wanted to break her Hippocratic oath just then. Nathan merely chuckled, while Riko finally loosened his hold on Abram’s neck and Jean came over to a struggling Andrew – came over and told the men holding onto him to go check something in the back, then took the men’s place.

“Come, Doe,” he said as he half-dragged Andrew closer to Nathan. Then he raised his voice. “Are we getting rid of these two? They smell.”

Riko laughed while he stroked the back of his left hand along a gasping Abram’s bruised face. “They can take the Hatford with them now, but Minyard’s supposed to watch something, isn’t he? I promised him that he got to see me fuck his dear ‘Abram’.”

“Let… him… go,” Abram gulped. “Part of… the deal.”

Riko looked displeased at that and choked Abram again. “You don’t talk back to me, _ever_.”

“Fuh-film it,” Abram gritted out while he twisted about in Riko’s hold; he attempted to knee the bastard and got punched for it, then his left arm was twisted about in a such vicious, sharp manner that Andrew knew it had just been dislocated; he made to jerk forward, but Jean held him back. Still, despite the pain Abram barely made a sound, he just gasped a little and shook his head when Stuart and Bren once more attempted to get to him. “Nuh-no.” During the entire time, he had avoided looking at Andrew, had focused his attention on Nathan and Riko as much as possible.

“He’s right,” Harker called out, sounding bored with everything. “We need to wrap this up and get out of here. You’ve got what you want, now give them the two men so we can go back home. Have your… whatever back there, where I don’t have to watch it,” he said with disgust curling the corner of his mouth.

Riko didn’t appear happy about that. “Fine,” he said, sounding like a spoiled child deprived of his fun. “I’ll record it, like he said.” He yanked Abram upright again to kiss him, while staring at Andrew the entire time – at least until Abram seemed to bite him. He cursed in Japanese and lashed out with his fist at Abram again, knocking him down once more.

Andrew jerked forward again, only for Jean to pull him back. “Not yet,” the backliner breathed in his ear. “Almost.” The words puzzled him, until Jean gave him a shove forward – not toward a fuming Stuart, but closer to _Nathan_.

Toward the bastard who was chiding Riko to teach ‘Junior’ some manners, while Ally was being all but dumped at Stuart’s and Bren’s feet. Harker was telling those two that they were to collect their ‘people’ and to leave the base immediately, and any attempt to report what had happened in the hanger would have them arrested and the deal revoked – as in all of them being killed as soon as they were returned to the hanger.

Andrew was just a couple of feet away from Nathan when Abram finally looked up at him, Riko’s hands once more wrapped around his damn neck as the prick shouted something in Japanese, and Abram gave him a slight smile, just like the ones he did all the time when he knew Andrew was about to call him an idiot, and then the lights when out.

Somehow, Andrew didn’t think it was a power outage or an accident.

Jean had got him close enough to Nathan and Andrew wasn’t going to waste the opportunity. While there were cries of first confusion and then panic, soon followed by pain and anger, he slid the knife down into his hands, added by the blood on his arms, paused only to slash the ties binding them and then lashed out where he remembered the bastard’s throat to be. He felt the blade sink into flesh and then kept slashing, kept stabbing even when a meaty fist slammed into him.

The lights came back on a few seconds later, enabling Andrew to see Nathan fumbling for his own weapon as blood poured down his chest, his blue eyes – so similar to Abram’s except for how little emotion they contained besides hatred and cruel amusement – wide with shock. Andrew managed to knock the blade aside as he shoved the knife into one of those eyes then panted while the taller man tumbled onto the floor.

Abram.

He whirled around to find Abram slumped over an unconscious Riko who was sprawled out on the floor, with Jean standing beside him and Bren acting as a shield for the two men. It looked as if Riko was still breathing, which was a shame, his nose bleeding and broken, and Abram… well, he was a little better off than he’d been after the whole Lola affair. Maybe.

Andrew staggered over to him while Jamie, Liz and a bunch of other Hatford people – even a smirking Lloyd - ran around taking care of the rest of Riko’s men. When he collapsed on his knees next to Abram, his friend raised his head to stare wide-eyed at him for a couple of seconds then reached out a tentative hand to hover it in front of his face.

“Your father’s dead,” Andrew told him. “I promised you.”

Abram swallowed, the action causing him pain from the way his face twisted. “I don’… don’ care.” His voice was raspy and deep, making it sound as if Riko had done some damage with all that throttling. “I… you’re okay?”

Andrew ignored that question. “I’m going to throttle you myself when you’re healed,” he told his idiot. “Why did you come?”

“Because of you,” Abram said. “Tu-to get you.”

Yes, a complete and utter idiot. Andrew sighed as he leaned forward, allowing Abram’s hand to rest against the right side of his face for a moment, before pushing forward for a kiss. It hurt like hell, considering his lips, his nose and the left side of his face… but something in him felt at peace at the way Abram’s fingers lingered as light as gossamer on his right cheek, at how Abram breathed into him, at how Abram didn’t pull away until he did, even though Abram’s lips were just as tattered.

“Oh for fuck’s – not _now_ ,” Stuart snarled. “Look at him, dammit! Ram, are you all right?”

Of course Stuart’s ‘precious Ram’ syndrome would kick in at that moment – Andrew wished that he hadn’t left the knife in Nathan’s eye socket.

Abram glowered as much as possible with the current condition of his face as he fumbled to stand up while helping Andrew to do the same. “I’m _fine_ ,” he lied so blatantly that even Andrew scoffed, “shu-shouldn’t you be askin’ about Andrew?”

Stuart eyed Andrew for a moment before he offered them both a hand. “He… uhm… yeah,” he said while he ducked his head. “You all right, Minyard?”

“I think I’m hearing things,” Andrew commented once he was standing, and allowed himself to lean a little against Abram; maybe, just maybe, the last few hours were catching up to him. “Why isn’t Riko dead? If it’s a mistake, can I kill him?”

“Get in fucking line,” Stuart muttered as he gave Riko’s left leg a kick, while Jean took to looking around for something. “We need to spin this shit around, so he’s alive _for now_.” He studied his nephew for a few seconds, the new bruises on Abram’s face, the ring of fingerprints on his neck, how he was holding his left arm against his body, and his face twisted with rage. “For now.”

“I’m going to get Annie, the two of you look like you got dragged through hell,” Bren said as he shrugged out of his sports coat and handed it to Andrew, who was a bit surprised by the gesture but appreciated it all the same. While Bren went off in search of the doctor, Jamie, Lloyd and Kevin Day came over to them, which seemed to be what Jean was waiting for – his aloof expression crumpled and he took a few hurried steps over to Kevin, who hugged him in evident relief.

“Dammit, Ram, we asked you to distract them, not to let them beat the shit out of you,” Jamie complained when she got close enough to see Abram in all of his glory.

Abram gave her a look as if to say ‘what did you expect’; while Andrew agreed with him, considering it had been Nathan Wesninski and Riko Moriyama he’d been ‘distracting’, he was still going to have words with his idiot – and whichever Hatford had signed off on the plan. “It worked, didn’t it?” he managed to croak out.

“Oh yes, I do love it when plans go as well as this one,” Lloyd said with a huge grin. “Even if you’re going to be stuck homebound for the next few weeks, it’ll work out in the end. Plenty of time to pick up that Arabic, yes?”

“Yes,” Abram sighed, while Andrew looked back and forth between the two, a bad feeling filling his chest.

“ _What the hell did you do_?” he asked in Mandarin.

“ _What I had to_ ,” Abram answered, the words barely understandable.

Before Andrew could ask more about that, Bren returned with Annie in tow, along with Liz dragging Harker behind her. “This one won’t shut up until he talks to you,” she told Lloyd.

The spook appeared even more pleased with himself as he took in the rumpled state of the Fed. “Adam! Long time no see.”

Harker glared at Lloyd. “What the hell are you doing? Your agency was told to back off! This is an important American mission and you just trespassed on U.S-“

“Ah, ah.” Lloyd cut him off with a wave of his right forefinger. “Still British soil, even if we let you guys camp out here, and you crossed a line when you dragged a British agent into it. Two, technically.”

“What the hell? We didn’t touch any of your people,” Harker argued.

“Yes, you did.” Lloyd was beaming as he motioned toward Abram and Andrew. “Abram’s a member of my team, I can send you the paperwork. As for Minyard… well….” His smile took on sharp edge as he turned back to Andrew.

Dammit, Abram had accepted Lloyd’s offer, had joined MI6. Judging from the expressions on Jamie’s, Liz’s, Stuart’s and Bren’s faces, they knew about it and had accepted it – well, mostly accepted it, since Stuart and Bren didn’t seem too happy but weren’t fighting it. And Andrew was willing to guess he knew _why_ his idiot had done it. So he nodded to Lloyd, since he refused to allow Abram to work for the spook asshole by himself.

“Well, there you have it, you kidnapped two MI6 agents,” Lloyd pointed out, a smile on his lips but his eyes narrowed, as if he was imagining the best place to shoot Harker just then. “In other words, you fucked up, Adam. You fucked up big time. No one can blame me for stepping in to rescue my own people.”

“But they weren’t-” Harker stopped when all Lloyd did was continue to smile at him. “You honestly think you can make this stick?”

“Abram’s been working on something with me for the last couple of weeks, I can _prove_ it,” Lloyd all but purred. “I’ve video footage, even.”

Dammit, it seemed Andrew couldn’t stab him for the whole hotel thing after all.

Harker appeared ready to stroke out over that, but all he did was grunt after several seconds. “You can’t touch me, not really. So let me walk out of here.”

“The fuck,” Stuart muttered, but Lloyd waved him silent.

“Of course, professional courtesy. Gather your things and be gone in five minutes,” Lloyd said. “And never try something so stupid again.”

After a couple of seconds, Harker gave a curt nod. “Fine. I knew this was a long-shot after all.” He heaved a sigh while shaking his head. “Hate this damn country,” he muttered, which earned him some nasty looks and rude gestures.

Andrew gave Harker a cold look before the man could leave. “You were behind the emails, weren’t you? From my ‘brother’.”

Harker paused in leaving to give him a sour look in return. “All you had to do was answer them, dammit. We were hoping for an in to make things smoother, but you had to be stubborn.”

In other words, they were hoping for him to betray Abram, to betray the Hatfords. Did the assholes bother to do any research before they set out on this shit or what? “No wonder you failed,” was all Andrew said as he flipped off the asshole.

“Oh yeah, he’ll do well in the organization, don’t you think?” Lloyd said, all smug with himself.

“Don’t think you’ll be welcome back in the States,” Harker warned as he glared at Andrew. “Best to make the UK your new home.”

“I’d planned on it,” Andrew called after the bastard, before he slumped a little more on Abram. “Are we done yet?”

“You damn prat,” Abram told him as he struggled to hold Andrew upright; for some reason he seemed to have trouble standing himself – well, other than the whole being smacked around and dislocated shoulder thing. “Yu-you all right?”

Several people rushed at them just then – Annie, Stuart, Bren and Jamie foremost. Annie and Bren grabbed Andrew, while Jamie and Stuart got Abram. “All right, both of you are going to the hospital,” Annie declared. “Ally’s already on his way there, so don’t give me any lip.” She glared at them while Bren all but carried Andrew toward the main door of the hanger, and Stuart Abram. “You need a liter or two of blood at least,” she told Andrew, “and all of those cuts stitched up and cleaned.” Then she turned toward Abram. “You need that shoulder tended to, and what did I tell you about staying off that hip?”

“Uhm….” Abram stared at her with wide blue eyes – well, one wide blue eye, as the other was well on its way to swelling shut.

“I’ll catch up to you in a couple of days,” Lloyd called out with his phone in his hand. “Both of you.”

Andrew allowed the hands on him just then because they were taking him from that awful hanger, were putting him in an SUV with Abram. Because they were people he mostly trusted, and they were keeping him with Abram. As he was set down in the back seat with Abram next to him, Bren smiling before he got behind the wheel, he felt himself relax for the first time in hours, especially when Abram sought out his left hand.

“Thank you,” Abram said as he slid down in the leather seats, his shoulder brushing against Andrew’s. “For… well, for everythin’. I’m so-“

Andrew cut him off by squeezing his hand. “Shut up. You’re making me pancakes when we get home.” It hurt to speak – actually, everything hurt, but it didn’t matter when Abram was beside him.

Abram was quiet as the car drove through the base, and then gave a pained laugh. “However mu-many chocolate chip pancakes you want, _hon_ ,” he said, his voice a faint rasp in the vehicle.

“Holding you to that, _babe_ ,” Andrew breathed out as he closed his eyes and allowed himself to relax, finally.

******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> And there we have it! A good bit of the plot resolved, but there's still a couple of things I want to address, ch19 is done and for some reason I want to wrap this up with 20 chapters but that might mean one MASSIVE last chapter. If that's the case, the last update might be a little late. I'll have a better idea next week.
> 
> So yes, the boys are a bit battered (it IS an AFTG fic), but they're together. I'm not THAT mean!
> 
> As always, the comments and kudos are appreciated.  
> *******


	19. Already Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, think you deserve a break after the last two chapters. Plus, who's really left to be the bad guy (well, there's Ichiro, but I think you'd really break out the pitchforks if I had him show up to harm our precious smol boys right now).
> 
> Here you go, me wrapping up Armies with a couple of indulgences. 
> 
> Once again, much thanks to Huntwodh for the beta!  
> *******

*******

Andrew sighed in relief at being back home, even if he hurt like hell from the stitched up wounds and the beating he’d taken the day before. The topical anesthetics had faded away a couple of hours ago, and despite the doctors’ misgivings he’d chosen to leave after his wounds had been cleaned and tended to, after all the tests had been run and he’d been told that he was mostly all right.

After Abram had been tended to and been told the same.

Andrew didn’t care if there were Hatford people lurking around in the hallways and they were being taken care of by medical people the family trusted, he just wanted to go home. Wanted to be away from everyone and in a place he trusted, where he could lock the doors and turn on the alarm system. Where he could shed the borrowed clothes, take a shower to wash off the remaining filth from the hanger, put on his own clothes and then try to relax and maybe get some long overdue sleep.

All of that _after_ he talked to his idiot, of course. It seemed that someone had made a decision that had a slight impact on his life. Their life.

He currently was in the shower doing his best to clean up without soaking the new stitches all over his face, arms and chest by standing with his back to the falling hot water, which felt incredible on his sore muscles and ribs. A little of it trickled down his front while he washed his hair (he’d decided that he was getting it trimmed in a few days, when he didn’t look so much like a survivor from a horror movie), but he was able to wash off enough to his satisfaction before he left the stall and grabbed a towel, his body protesting every movement. His upper body and even his legs were covered in multicolored bruises from all of the hits and kicks he’d taken, his ribs bruised but not broken, and the new stitches stood out in stark contrast on his skin.

After he patted the new wounds dry then reapplied the anti-bacterial cream so he could put on the bandages again, he stared at himself in the mirror at the neat lines of cuts on his face and his swollen nose. Good thing he’d never thought much of his looks; bet no one would confuse him with Aaron anymore.

Aching even more after the shower but feeling better because of it, he tugged on some underwear and the loosest clothes he could find, mentally huffing a little as he thought about his idiot. Then he took the elevator down to the main floor, because fuck doing the stairs for the next several days.

Abram was already there, left arm in a sling because of his shoulder, hair damp and falling onto his bruised face, clothes oversized and appearing so soft that Andrew’s fingers itched to touch them. A pot of coffee brewing and tea steeping, Abram looked up to give Andrew a tremulous smile.

He’d been shot, beaten up twice, throttled enough that his neck was a collar of dark bruises, had his shoulder dislocated and been threatened with rape, but he felt guilty about Andrew – Andrew, who was supposed to protect _him_.

Such a fucking idiot.

Andrew went to fetch some ice cream before they started talking, figuring that it shouldn’t hurt that much since he didn’t have to chew it. Eating was going to be such _fun_ for the next couple of days.

Abram fussed over the coffee while Andrew got the ice cream, and set a sweetened mug of the beverage down near him when he leaned against the counter with his meal. “Want su-something with it?” Abram managed to croak out, his voice having grown worse from the tissues swelling after all of that abuse from Riko, according to the doctors.

“Give me some Advil,” Andrew answered; he didn’t want to break out any of the stronger meds until it was time to sleep.

“’kay.” Abram put a couple of the requested pills down near Andrew and then poured himself some tea. “Talk now?” Abram held his tea cradled near his chest with his right hand, the words raspy and faint; according to the doctors he wasn’t supposed to talk much for the next few days, but Andrew needed some answers.

“Tell me about Lloyd.” Andrew figured Stuart and Jamie could fill him in on more stuff when they visited later, but he needed to know why the two of them were now working for MI6 from the idiot who had signed them up.

Abram sighed and winced a little while he sipped his tea, which he’d added honey to for once, probably in hope that it would help soothe his throat. “Because he wah… was only one who could get us on the base to su-save you,” he managed to more or less get out while he gazed at Andrew; Andrew had to give him credit, he didn’t shy away from the sight of the bandages or bruises.

“What about Xue or the rest of the family’s contacts?”

“Nah-“ Abram paused to clear his throat and winced in pain. “None of them du-deal with the military. Ow,” he said with a couple of pauses to drink the tea, but he wouldn’t look at Andrew during it.

“You sure about that?” Andrew asked while he set his ice cream aside for the moment, suspicious at that sudden evasion.

There was a weary sigh and Abram went to use his left arm, the limb twitching a little before he remembered why that was a bad idea. “Jain has a contact who does some wuh-work on the base, but….” He looked up at Andrew and shrugged, just a little, his expression on the bitter side.

In other words, Jain could have done something for them, but Andrew was willing to bet that there would have been a high price for it, considering his last meeting with the man. As much as he loathed Lloyd for what he’d had Abram do the last few weeks, Andrew felt some of his anger fade over the arrangement. “When Lloyd stops by to talk to us, there will be ground rules,” he insisted. “We may work for him, but there _will_ be ground rules.” Only some of the anger had faded, because he refused for Abram to be destroyed by their new job.

“You don’t-“ Abram shook his head as he winced some more and made to rub at his neck as if it would help. “You don’t huh-have to get dragged into this with me.”

Andrew crossed the kitchen so he could take the mug of tea away from his idiot and then give a quick tug to those damp, auburn curls. “I promised to protect you.”

Now Abram’s smile was sad as he met Andrew’s eyes. “You puh-promised to protect me from the Moriyamas and my father. Now my father’s dead and….” His battered voice faded out, but he didn’t need to say much more, considering what had happened the night before.

Now was _not_ the time for Abram to be all logical. “That doesn’t mean that Ichiro is out of the picture,” Andrew argued, and grew annoyed when Abram merely shook his head. “Then I’ll make a new deal with you. I promise to protect you, period.” To never let someone harm Abram again, to see him down on his knees like that, beaten and bruised.

That made the sad, small smile vanish from Abram’s gorgeous face, to be replaced by confusion. “But… why? Wu-what do you get out of it?”

“Chocolate chip pancakes,” Andrew said, the first thing to come into his head as his fingers slid through Abram’s damp hair to cup the back of his neck. “Whenever I want them. However many I want. Breakfast every day without complaint, even if you still sort of suck at it.”

For a moment, Abram stared at Andrew as if he was insane… and then he smiled, the first true smile Andrew had seen on him since they had left the hanger. “All right, I think I can muh-manage that.” A slight laugh escaped him, at least until he winced. “Even if it means you wu-whinging about what I make.” It was getting more difficult to understand him, his voice was that raspy, but Andrew was used to his idiot’s snark.

“Maybe you’ll get better in a few years, _maybe_ ,” Andrew offered as he tugged his idiot a bit closer, mindful of their many injuries.

“Maybe,” Abram agreed, his voice cracking hard on the word, and then their lips were brushing together; it was a gentle kiss, considering the slashes on Andrew’s face and their split lips and, well, _everything_ , but like in the hanger, something inside of Andrew settled at it. Something in him slowly unwound at the feel of Abram’s mouth on his, the soft press of lips and faint exhale of breath, of Abram’s fingers brushing lightly against his chin before he pulled away.

Abram’s smile made his chest ache in a good way when he chided his idiot to drink more damn tea and stop croaking like a frog while he went back to finish his ice cream. Abram was all right (more than a little tattered around the edges, but all right), and seemed content to have that tea while Andrew ate his ice cream and drank his coffee. Considering how weary he felt just then and the meds waiting for them, he didn’t think the bit of caffeine would interfere with their sleep at all.

He checked the new phone that Jason had given him before they left the hospital, along with his knives, and saw that there was a new message already from Renee (thanks to the time difference) but not yet from Nicky (which was for the best, since he didn’t want to have to deal with his cousin for a little while longer). He’d sent her a bare bones explanation (the attack, Moriyamas mostly broken, Day did some good for once) on their way back from the hospital and said he’d call her once he had some time. She’d replied with ‘hope you are well, in my prayers and talk when you’re ready’. Just what he needed, her wasting time with shit like that, so he sent back to save her energy for praying for whomever had to use those shitty buildings she was putting together.

That done for the time being, he checked the time and found it to almost be four in the morning on what was then Saturday, which was difficult to believe – that everything had happened in less than a day, that he’d been up for almost twenty-four hours, that so much could change in such a small amount of time. Not too much had been talked about while they were at the hospital, but Andrew knew that Will, Jamie and Stuart had something planned for Riko, that they wouldn’t allow the prick to live for much longer… but he was too tired to care at the moment. Too tired and sore. So he poured himself a little more coffee and fumbled open the various bottles of pills they’d been given at the hospital along with some cooling patches while looking at Abram.

His idiot sighed while nodding. “Not goin’ to let you keep dopin’ me ‘gain,” Abram muttered ever as he held out his right hand.

“No,” Andrew agreed, but they needed the antibiotics because of the various wounds and they both could use several hours of uninterrupted sleep. With that in mind, he parceled out the pain meds and muscle relaxers for them both.

Once the meds were washed down with something to drink, he checked the alarm system once more and then they took the elevator up to the second floor. Abram frowned when Andrew joined him in his bedroom. “Nah-no chair,” he argued with his ruined voice. “Not like you are now.”

Andrew shrugged despite the pain in his chest. “I’ve slept in worse.” He didn’t think he could relax up in his own bed, not with the thought of Abram somewhere else, not after coming so close to losing Abram, to Riko and Wesninski taking him away.

“But….” Abram shook his head while setting his phone down on the nightstand and looking at his bed, then at Andrew heading over to the chair. “Just wait,” he said while shuffling over to the closet, his right leg dragging a little, where he fumbled to tug down what looked to be a spare duvet with his right hand. “Get on the bed.”

“I don’t think-“

“The bed,” Abram called out, his voice crackling as he attempted to speak louder. The duvet mostly fell onto his head, but he didn’t seem to care since he ended up with an armful of bedding in the end. “Share it,” he told Andrew, his voice croaking more than usual.

Andrew was about to argue with him on that, but he was tired, he was sore as hell and he just wanted to sleep. So he went over to grab the duvet from his idiot and got on the bed, took up the spot next to the wall and wrapped himself in the feather duvet while Abram slid beneath the bedding, and snagged a couple of the pillows already there since Abram had also grabbed a few extra to help prop up his left arm.

He had to get Liliya to order him new linens next, since the duvet was soft as hell.

They laid down with as much space between them as possible, but Andrew could see Abram if he opened his eyes, could hear the faint sounds of his breathing and felt assured by that fact. He watched over his friend from his spot on the bed, cocooned in the duvet and wrapped in the warm haze of painkillers, until the drugs and exhaustion pulled him into unconsciousness.

There were faint impressions of dreams while Andrew slept, of blood and knives and smirking grins, but the drugs were too strong for the nightmares to have much effect, that and his body’s need for rest. He woke gradually, the pain in his face making itself aware and then that in his arms and chest, and then he was startled awake when he realized that he wasn’t in his room, in his bed. Abram was still in the same position he’d been in earlier and started at Andrew’s motion, his eyes blinking open and body tensing up, only to moan while Andrew forced himself to relax and then untangle himself from the duvet.

“Ow,” Abram complained as he buried deeper beneath the bedding for a moment, expression one of pure misery.

Andrew agreed, but reached out to give a gentle shove at his idiot’s head. “Get out.” He needed to use the bathroom and then wanted some more pain meds – unfortunately not more of the good kind, but something to help take the edge off. “Now.” Abram was in his way, and he wasn’t in good enough shape to climb over the idiot.

“Prat,” Abram muttered, or at least Andrew assumed that’s what the croaking was just then. His idiot nearly fell out of the bed, but managed to cling to the edge and sat there huddled over while Andrew went into the bathroom to take a piss. Abram passed him on his way out, supposedly to do the same, so Andrew went downstairs to get the caffeine going.

Abram stumbled out of the elevator a few minutes later then limped into the kitchen while busy texting on his phone; once there, he dropped the phone on the counter and slumped against Andrew’s back, mindful of his weight, until Andrew handed him another cup of tea with honey in it.

There was a message from Stuart warning them that he was on his way, and another from Bren saying that he was bringing food. “Guess you’re spared from cooking just yet,” Andrew told his idiot, which provoked a pained whine; it seemed that someone’s voice had gotten even worse.

They had some caffeine and over the counter pain meds – and Abram a cooling patch on his shoulder - but would wait to take the antibiotics until Bren showed up with the food so they went to get comfortable in the living room. They’d slept for about ten hours or so, which wasn’t too bad, and Andrew got a fire started after having a cigarette while Abram curled up on the loveseat as much as he could between his hip and his shoulder when the alarm was disengaged.

Bren came in first, carrying several bags which he took into the kitchen after flashing them a big grin. “Wow, you two look even worse than this morning.” He chuckled when Abram gave him a rude gesture and Andrew a flat look, set the bags down then put what looked to be several pints of ice cream into the freezer and something in the fridge before coming into the living room with a box of donuts. “Uhm, these aren’t too bad, are they?” he asked as he set the box on the table with some napkins. “There’s also some soup in there, I thought that might be good for your throat, but we all know how your hooligan is without his sugar,” he told Abram.

Abram smiled over the rim of his mug while Andrew helped himself to a cream-filled donut; he should be able to tear it into small enough pieces that were easy to wash down with the coffee, that and he was starving. “You may live a little longer.”

“Always pleased to be of service,” Bren said, deep voice heavy with sarcasm, but he seemed happy as he sat down on the couch. “Ah, it’s good to sit still for a minute.”

“Busy?”

“As fuck.” Bren closed his eyes for a moment and then grunted as he got up, disputing his earlier comment. “Need coffee. Stuart was right behind me, imagine he stopped to pick up something,” he said as he poured himself a mug of coffee.

Despite being comfortable, Andrew grabbed Abram’s mug and his own for refills, and grabbed the pills while he was up. “Let’s hope he gets lost.”

That earned him a tired laugh from Bren. “You’re not that lucky.” Then Bren glanced over at Andrew and winced. “Well, relatively speaking.”

They returned to the living room, where Abram managed to eat a plain donut with the help of his tea (grimacing the entire time, probably from the amount of honey Andrew had put in it) and take his meds by the time Stuart and Davis arrived.

Stuart took one look at his nephew and shook his head. “That bastard’s not suffering enough,” he gritted out as he set a bag down on the coffee table. The older man appeared exhausted, as if he’d barely gotten any sleep since Andrew had last seen him, though he had a new suit on and must have managed a shave at some point, which was more than Andrew and Abram had done. Davis had changed as well, though there was a definite growth of dark hair along his jaw which gave him even more of a roguish appearance.

Andrew had to agree, and he hadn’t even heard what the Hatfords _were_ doing to Riko. “So something’s been decided?” he asked as he set his mug aside.

“Yuh-yea-ow.” Abram sighed as he rubbed at his neck and glared at nothing for a moment, until Andrew reached over to tug on a lock of his hair and mouthed ‘shut up’ at him. That earned him what probably would have been a dirty look, except Abram couldn’t manage it with basically one eye so he turned his back to Andrew and slumped a little against him, just a bit of weight against Andrew’s left side. Then he stiffened as if realizing what he’d done and went to pull away.

Andrew sighed in annoyance while he shoved a pillow against his left side then raised his arm over the top of the loveseat so it was out of the way. “ _Idiot_ ,” he muttered in Mandarin, which made Abram glance over at him, then see the pillow and how Andrew was sitting.

Abram blinked at him in surprise as if taken aback by the offer, but in the end Andrew knew Abram was still upset over everything that had happened yesterday, still had a small knot of tension inside of himself over the ordeal and having his idiot nearby would appease the lingering fear inside of him of Abram being taken away, of someone knocking him out again and separating them. His friend slowly relaxed as he slumped against the pillow until his head rested against Andrew’s shoulder, his legs curled up on the loveseat. Andrew nodded once and then reached for the box of donuts, which he rested on Abram’s lap so he could continue eating, which earned him a faint sigh.

Stuart gaped at the two of them while Bren shook his head with a grin on his face and Davis actually took a picture. “I don’t… you know what, I’m too tired for this shite. You just _had_ to get him back, didn’t you, Ram?”

Abram merely closed his eyes and mouthed what looked to be ‘Riko’.

“What’s going on with the Moriyamas?” Andrew inquired while he picked a jelly donut. “Who got the honors of blowing out Riko’s brains? Is it too late to be in the running for it?”

“No one – it’s supposed to look like an accident, you midget goth,” Stuart muttered as he leaned forward to glance in the box of donuts, only to have Andrew give him a dirty look. “And you’ve pissed off more than a few people with the fact that you took out Wesninski, so don’t be greedy.” He huffed for a minute as he folded his arms over his chest. “As for Riko, we’ve got the details worked out, it should hit the news tonight.”

Someone wasn’t being very helpful, so Andrew glanced over at Davis.

“We’ve enlisted Lloyd’s help and are going with the story that Riko dragged Day and Moreau to the UK for a little vacation to cheer up Day after his release from rehab,” Davis explained as he put his phone away. “Except Riko wasn’t handling his uncle’s health issues very well and went on a bender, which of course a newly sober Day and Moreau objected to, so they got into a fight and Riko went storming off.” David grinned at that part. “It’s going to explain how the wanker ends up smashing his car into a wall and why there’s not much of a face left, or any intact bones.”

Andrew didn’t have a problem with any of that, and judging from how relaxed Abram was against him, he’d have to say his idiot didn’t either. “What’s Kevin’s and Moreau’s thoughts on things?”

Stuart gave up on glaring at Andrew and stood to grab the bag from the coffee table before he went into the kitchen, where he fussed with the electric kettle. “Long as we extend our protection to them, they’ll go along with it whatever we want. Will has someone tracking down Kevin’s cousin while we speak, so it’s going to break soon, about his mother. It’s in Ichiro’s best interest to cut Day and Moreau loose, especially when the press finds out about Evermore on top of all of this. They’ll be too dangerous to touch.”

It would look suspicious as hell if something were to happen to the Exy players after all of that – as long as Ichiro was the sort to recognize when it was in his interest to cut his losses. “I want to talk to Kevin before they go back to the States,” Andrew said. He hadn’t a chance after leaving the hanger, not with being rushed to the hospital and everything.

“Doable.” Stuart grabbed a tin of tea from the bag he’d brought and was quiet while he measured it out. “If this doesn’t break the Moriyamas, it’s going to come close. Tetsuya doesn’t have long, Riko’s gone and Ichiro’s got too many people out for his blood right now, including the U.S. government. We had one of our friends in the States get a message to Plank that Wesninski’s dead,” he put an exceptional amount of hate in the name, and Abram stirred a little against Andrew, “so the asshole can rally the prick’s organization in an attempt to keep it out of Ichiro’s hands.”

So Ichiro would have to simultaneously stave off the U.S. government’s attempts to weaken him, Plank’s little coup d’état, the fallout from Riko’s death along with Kevin’s and Moreau’s ‘defection’, Tetsuji’s imminent death and the resulting Evermore scandal as well as the Kayleigh Day scandal – all of that when there would be rivals seeking to tear him apart, to claim whatever pieces of his organization that they could if not all of it.

To do to him what he’d tried to do to the Hatfords.

It wouldn’t bring Bee back, but Andrew felt a small bit of satisfaction in knowing that Riko was dead or soon would be, in that he’d hurt Ichiro in one of the few ways that mattered. That he’d ended Nathan Wesninski’s life with his own hands.

“I want a damn raise,” he mumbled, despite the ache in the left side of his face.

Stuart scoffed at that while he made a new pot of tea. “I thought you didn’t work for us anymore.”

“Part of my severance package or whatever,” Andrew insisted.

“Don’t even,” Stuart warned. “I still can’t believe that-“

“Ally,” Abram managed to croak, his voice worse than it had been that morning. Andrew gave his hair another tug to make him shut up again.

That made Stuart’s expression turn from angry to worried. “He’s… he’s taking it hard, the poor bastard.” Bren nodded in agreement while Davis’ expression grew troubled; Andrew didn’t know what the men had expected, considering what Ally, who had always been a bit spoiled, had gone through in the hanger and in his own home. “He’s still in the hospital, and Miriam’s going to take him back home once they release him.”

Things were quiet after that, until a minute or two later when Bren held up his phone. “The bed will be delivered in a couple of hours.”

Andrew stared at the enforcer in confusion, while Abram once more stirred and tried to speak, only to wave his right hand after a few seconds. “Bed?” Andrew asked as he gave another tug on his idiot’s hair.

“Yeah, Abram asked for a bigger bed.” Bren winked at Andrew while explaining. “Liliya’s getting the stuff ready for it.”

“Should have left you to the damn Americans,” Stuart muttered as he brought in a pot of tea and set it down near Abram. “You need to drink this stuff, and have that soup Bren brought. Text me if you want anything, maybe some ice lollies will help with the throat?”

Abram grimaced at that while he sat up, and for some reason Davis groaned while Bren was trying to stifle a laugh. When Stuart glared at his underling, Davis stopped rubbing at his face. “Ah, you sure you wanna give Scout there some lollies to suck on? Though Andrew might appreciate it.”

It took about three seconds, but Stuart’s face flushed a dark red while Abram hid his behind his hand and Andrew grabbed his phone to look up ‘ice lollies’. “I. Will. Shoot. You,” the man ground out while Davis chuckled nervously and Bren got up to inch his way to the front door.

“Now, now, I was just being thoughtful!” Davis held his hands up in a placating manner while rising to his feet as well. “I think Jamie needs us to help with the whole Riko thing?”

“You’re going to drive his car into the fucking wall, you are,” Stuart insisted as he stalked toward the door after the man.

“Bring those popsicles when you drop off the bed,” Andrew called out after the departing pains in the asses, since he had to agree with Davis. Beside him on the loveseat, Abram managed a mostly silent sigh and stared into his mug of tea as if wondering why it didn’t contain any alcohol.

Actually, Andrew wondered that himself and got up to make some spiked hot chocolate, since he wasn't taking the more powerful meds at the moment. After a few seconds, he heard a shuffling sound and assumed that Abram was following him, and wondered if he shouldn't get his idiot a cane or something. On second thought, maybe it would encourage the idiot to stay off of his feet. Maybe.

They weren't going to be good for much but sitting around until their injuries healed up a bit more, and Andrew was fine with that. Something told him they would need the time to figure a few things out, such as his new promise, what Abram had gotten them into and.... He set the tin of hot chocolate down on the counter with a bit more force than he intended as he thought of what came after that 'and'. Of staying in London (since it had been made clear that he was officially an 'ex-pat' now) and having a chance to take those drives in the cars parked in the garage. Of sitting in the backyard while Abram played with stupid fish of all things. Of dealing with Nicky on a long term basis.

Wait, something just occurred to him. "What happened to the Vanquish?" There had only been one car in the garage when they were dropped off earlier.

In the process of hitching his good hip onto a stool, Abram stared at Andrew with a guilty expression while he held the mug of tea cradled between his hand and his chest. "Errr." He set the mug aside so he could gesture to his hip and then made a gun-like shape with his fingers before picking up the mug.

Andrew stared at him for a few seconds before clicking his tongue. "You're never driving the McLaren." They hadn't even had the Aston Martin for a month, and already the idiot was ruining the poor thing. "You're a menace."

Abram merely sighed again and shook his head. Then he seemed to perk up when Andrew broke out the whiskey to add it to his hot chocolate, enough to smile when Andrew added a generous dollop to his tea when he didn't even care for it.

They went back into the living room to watch a movie, that time stretching out on the couch with Abram’s head resting on a pillow tucked against Andrew’s thigh while he finished the donuts and drank his hot chocolate. It was while Abram was having some soup and Andrew more hot chocolate that the new bed arrived, Bren supervising the men delivering it and handing over a box of popsicles with a huge grin. Even Liz and Liliya stopped by to join in on the 'fun', Liz carrying a couple of large bags containing the new linens and towels while Liliya fussed over Abram and Andrew.

Fortunately they didn't stay long, just enough to drop off the new stuff and leave with the old, which left Andrew and Abram staring at the king-sized bed in Abram's bedroom. It took up more space than the other bed, but the room was so large that it didn't seem crowded at all.

"Uhm... it-" Abram started coughing and then frowned as he rubbed at his neck, seeming displeased with how his throat was too swollen to do much talking. For himself, Andrew wasn't going to complain about a day or two of quiet, of his idiot being unable to get them into any new trouble.

It was big, was probably what Abram was going to say. Big enough for both of them to sleep on it without getting too close, with allowing them their space. Big enough where Andrew could feel comfortable yet where he would know Abram was there without having to worry so much about harming his idiot. One of the good things he’d noticed over the nights he’d spent on the chair was how little Abram moved in his sleep.

Someone – Liliya, probably – had made the bed for them, so it was ready whenever they wanted to go to sleep. Not quite tired enough to call it a day just then, they went back downstairs and watched another movie, then both had some soup while Andrew sent Nicky a text to calm his cousin down and tell him that he’d call in another day or two to talk.

They took the meds again before going to sleep, and between them and how comfortable the new bed was, Andrew once again slept straight through until nine hours later, when Abram woke him up. He had a few dark thoughts about how anyone wanted to leave something so wonderful, but placated himself with thoughts of a nap later in the day.

It was easiest for them to help each other out in the shower, what with Abram’s dislocated left shoulder and Andrew’s cut up arms, and the sight of each other’s stiches and bruises were sobering. Andrew was still angry over Abram coming back for him, for his idiot not running fast enough from Ally’s townhouse and getting shot as a result – and knew that Abram felt the pain of each cut that Nathan Wesninski had carved into him, of each blow that Riko had landed on Andrew.

“So damn stubborn and stupid,” Andrew said as he draped a towel over Abram’s head. “Next time I tell you to run, you damn well _run_. You do it any other time, you stupid rabbit.”

All Abram did was give him a slight smile and shake his head while he splayed the very tips of his fingers over Andrew’s heart.

After they tended to each other’s injuries as much as possible, they went to the kitchen, where Abram tugged a stool over to the counter then the stove and managed to make Andrew his chocolate chip pancakes. It was worth the soreness to eat all of them, and they spent the rest of the day watching movies or up on the new bed reading, Abram drinking the tea Stuart had bought to help with his throat and Andrew hot chocolate.

They took the meds one more night to help rest up, and on Monday morning Andrew was asked ‘yes or no’ after their shower together, was given a gentle, lingering kiss by Abram as he stood naked in Abram’s bathroom, covered in bruises and angry red stitches, his face still swollen and battered. Abram’s breath hitched a little as he pulled away and there was a shy smile on his lips, the bottom one bearing a couple of stitches, which led Andrew to believe that the idiot didn’t give a damn about the broken nose or the ‘souvenirs’ left by Nathan. For a moment Andrew felt a spark of desire himself… and then moved his sliced up arms and remembered why nothing was going to happen any time soon.

“Go make me my pancakes,” he told his idiot.

“Damn prat,” Abram grumbled, but his voice wasn’t quite so croaky and that smile remained on his battered lips.

They were curled up on the couch after breakfast, Abram with his laptop studying what sounded to be Arabic and Andrew stretched out with his head propped up on a pillow resting against Abram’s side when he got a text that company was on its way – all of two minutes before it arrived. That wasn’t much of a warning before Stuart and Davis entered the townhouse with Kevin and Jean, the two younger men wearing plain sweatshirts with the hoods pulled over their heads.

Kevin stared around in amazement at the townhouse while Stuart fussed over Abram, asking if he was drinking the tea and if he wanted to go back to the doctor to get his throat checked out. "You live here?" Kevin asked as he tugged down the hood of his shirt.

"No, we broke in just so we could have this meeting," Andrew said, then sighed when Kevin's eyes grew even wider. "Yes."

"It's uh... it's nice." Kevin glanced around a little more then shook his head. "I'd heard... never mind. So you're staying here? In England, I mean?" He looked at the kitchen, where Abram had gone with Stuart and Davis as if to give Andrew some privacy.

Why wasn't Andrew surprised that Kevin hadn't paid that much attention to things back in the hanger, to the conversation that had taken place between Lloyd and Harker? Then again, all Kevin seemed to care about that night was Jean, and judging from the way that Jean's eyes tracked Kevin and that Kevin didn't stray too far from the backliner... hmm, maybe there was a reason why Day had broken up with Muldani a couple years back.

"There's nothing for me back in the States," Andrew told him while Abram came over with a mug of coffee held in his left hand, his limp less pronounced than it had been a couple of days ago.

“But you could-“ Kevin sighed in frustration when Andrew gave him a cold look while he accepted the coffee. “I still can’t believe that you could just up and quit Exy, not when you’re that talented.” Then he turned toward Abram. “What about you? You were amazing, tell me that you still play.”

Abram’s right hand, which held a cup of tea which Stuart must have made for him, began to tremble, so Andrew wrapped his around his idiot’s nape. “No,” Abram said, his voice harsh from more than just his sore throat. “I was too busy staying alive to play.”

Kevin blinked at that, and went to say something until Jean patted him on the left arm. “So you’re staying here,” Jean summed up, his voice still carrying a faint French accent after all of this time, his face bruised from the abuse he took from Riko that night in the hanger and a couple of his fingers in splints.

“Brilliant deduction.”

“God, you’re still an asshole,” Kevin muttered as he ran his fingers through his hair.

Andrew almost said ‘takes one to know one,’ but he didn’t have Kevin stop by to get into an insult match. “What are you going to do next?” The news was still going crazy over Riko’s ‘accident’ the other night, hence why Kevin and Jean were being careful to hide their appearance.

Kevin shrugged while Jean sidled a little closer. “We’ve still got a couple of years left on our contracts with the Barons, I don’t see any way out of that and I still want to play Exy.”

Of course, Andrew wasn’t surprised to hear that, not the great Kevin Day who lived and breathed Exy, but he noticed that had been an ‘I’ there, not a ‘we’.

“And we’ve already been asked to testify about Evermore,” Kevin continued, while Jean’s expression became shuttered at the mention of their old alma mater. “Tetsuji’s not expected to last more than a few days now, and between his health declining so quickly and Riko’s death… it’s gotten bad, at the Nest.”

The coward actually appeared upset about his dear old ‘Master’ dying; someone had taken news of his psychotic nephew’s death hard and there was no one left to control what happened at Evermore, it seemed. No one with suitable authority, at least.

Ichiro’s empire was crumbling fast, what a shame.

Stuart came over and glared at Abram until the idiot sighed and sipped his tea. “Once Tetsuji’s gone, Kevin’s cousin will come forward about what happened to Kayleigh Day, claiming that she feels safe now that Kengo and Tetsuji are dead.”

Kevin’s expression hardened upon hearing that. “That’s all I really care about, that my mom gets some justice in the end.” Beside him, Jean made a soothing noise.

Right, how many talented young people got fucked up in the Nest, Abram had how much of his life ruined, and all that mattered was some woman who invented a stupid game. Andrew didn’t regret his deal with Kevin because it had given him something to focus on for those few years, had given him a faint glimmer of hope (even if it had proven futile in the end), but it didn’t mean that Day couldn’t be the biggest, most selfish asshole imaginable at times. Why the hell was Moreau putting up with him, was the big question.

“And Wymack?”

“Huh?” Kevin stared at Andrew in confusion for asking about their former coach, while Andrew merely sipped his coffee, his hand still on the back of Abram’s neck; he wondered how much longer the coward would keep Wymack in the dark about him being Kevin’s father, and before people started digging into what other things might have been _hidden_ about Kayleigh Day.

However, it looked as if Frenchie had figured out what Andrew was alluding to, since he narrowed his eyes at Andrew while patting Kevin’s arm again. “We should be going, we have an early flight tomorrow.”

“Yeah.” Kevin smiled at Jean, the expression genuine and surprisingly tender, before he nodded at Andrew. “So I guess this is-“

Andrew let go of Abram’s nape and shoved his mug at Stuart before he crossed the small amount of space between him and Kevin. “One more thing.” While Kevin blinked in confusion, Andrew pulled back his right fist and punched the bastard in the face with everything he had, which sent a protesting Kevin to tumble backwards onto the floor while Jean scrambled over him in a protective manner. “That was for Bee, you fucking bastard.” He may have popped a stitch or two, but it was so worth it.

“I think you broke his nose,” Davis commented from where he leaned against the kitchen island. “Nice.”

“Not nice if he bleeds in the damn car,” Stuart complained while he went to fetch a hand towel; meanwhile, Abram sighed and shook his head, probably worried about the carpet. He should be thankful that it wasn’t the precious grout.

“ _Are you crazy_?” Jean shouted in French. “ _Why_?”

“Nuh-no,” Kevin said while he held his hands to his bleeding nose as if to staunch the blood. “I… I’m sowwy.”

Maybe, maybe not – if anything, he was sorry for himself. “I don’t care, because it changes nothing,” Andrew told him. “Just know her death is as much on you as it’s on Riko.”

Jean made as if to lunge at Andrew, but Kevin caught at his left arm. “He did it to protect you! You and your brother!”

Andrew merely gave the Frenchman a flat look back. “And an innocent woman died.”

Before Jean could say anything else, Kevin murmured something quiet and slurred in French to him while fumbling onto his feet; Jean continued to glare at Andrew, but nodded to Kevin while Stuart sighed and shoved the mug back into Andrew’s hands after tossing the towel at Kevin.

“We’re leaving now if the drama’s over.” When nothing else was said right away, he reached over to tousle Abram’s hair and told his nephew to get some rest while Davis herded Kevin and Jean toward the door.

“Goodbye, Andrew,” Kevin called out.

“Talk to Wymack,” Andrew told him, just to get in one final parting shot, and derived some satisfaction in seeing Kevin’s bruising eyes grow wide. Let the coward stew on how much Andrew knew and if he was going to say anything himself.

Since the day had already gotten off to such a bad start, Andrew decided to call Nicky and get that over with, heading outside to have a cigarette while he talked on the phone. Nicky answered on the second ring, which made Andrew think that maybe his cousin had been waiting for him to call. “Andrew! What the fuck is going on?”

“Hello to you, too,” Andrew told the pain in the ass.

“Don’t ‘hello’ me,” Nicky ranted, speaking almost too fast to be understood. “First you change your phone number, then you don’t answer my calls and just text me ‘later’ or ‘fuck off’, and then Riko dies. _Riko_! What the hell is going on?”

“Yeah, about that.” Andrew paused to take a drag on his cigarette. “You at work?” He felt sorry for the pest’s coworkers if he was.

“ _No_!” Nicky all but shrieked. “I can’t think straight, let alone sit still, I’m so worried about the two of you. What the fuck is going on? Are you and Abram all right?”

There was no way in hell that Andrew was going to tell his cousin the truth, because Nicky would be on the first plane to England to fuss over them and they’d have to knock him out to get him to leave. “We’re fine,” he lied. Well, partially lied, since he and Abram were getting better. “All you need to know is that Abram’s father is dead and so is Riko, and Riko’s brother isn’t going to be a threat much longer.”

“What the-“ Nicky grew quiet as he took a few deep breaths and seemed to think about something. “You’re fine, right? You and Abram? You’re not just lying to me to make me feel better?”

Andrew paused for another drag on the cigarette. “We’re all right,” he told Nicky, somewhat annoyed that his cousin had figured things out so quickly. “It got a little rough, but we’re all right.”

“Dammit, Andrew,” Nicky said, his voice ragged as if he was holding back tears. “This isn’t a game, you know. I don’t want to lose you.”

“You’re not, I told you I’m fine.” He didn’t understand why Nicky was so damn upset. “I’m calling to let you know that things should be better from now on, that the Moriyamas shouldn’t be a problem much longer. Abram’s family said that they’ll keep the people watching over you and Aaron just in case, but you and Erik should be safe.” He’d wait a little longer to tell Nicky about the new job, once he had a better idea of what it entailed. He imagined that Erik would be relieved that he’d gone into a more ‘legitimate’ business, even if it probably meant the same type of work.

“I don’t… well, all right, I do care,” Nicky admitted, his voice a bit more even. “Those guys are hot, I’d hate to not see them around us all the time.” He gave a weak chuckle. “I don’t mind the occasional corner grocery store run half as much anymore.”

“Your priorities are fucked up,” Andrew told his cousin, his annoyance having gone up a notch. Why were they even related?

“Aw, I’m just looking,” Nicky whined. “I’m still allowed to do that. But seriously, Erik will be happy to know that… well, not about Riko being killed and all, but that things are back to normal, more or less.” He cleared his throat while Andrew inhaled some more smoke. “So we can visit again, right? If it’s safe again, we can come see you. I want to make sure you really are all right.” Nicky sounded determined then.

“Give it a couple of weeks,” Andrew told him. “A little more time for things to settle, just in case someone takes it into their head to go down fighting.”

“All right, but we’re coming for a visit soon,” Nicky insisted. “The end of April, like we were talking about. Have the room ready for us because we’re coming whether you like it or not.”

That would give Andrew and Abram a bit more time to find out about their new jobs with Lloyd, and what it meant with their current position in the Hatford organization. It also gave them a little longer to stop looking as if they’d just escaped a house of horrors, so Andrew agreed. Nicky seemed mollified with that and finally calmed down, and they spent a few more minutes talking about general things before Andrew hung up and went back inside.

Abram wasn’t upset with the news that Nicky and Erik were visiting, and felt up to making pizza for dinner that night with Andrew’s help. They stretched out on the couch to watch a movie afterwards, Abram’s back lightly pressed against Andrew’s chest, before going to bed. That night they decided to do without the stronger meds.

Of course Lloyd showed up on Tuesday afternoon, along with Jamie and Liz, on what turned out to be a bad day, after they barely got any sleep because of the nightmares. Andrew didn't know about Abram, but he'd been woken up by images of Riko hauling Abram off to a bed while Wesninski held Andrew down, of being helpless while that prick carried through with his threat. Of Wesninski using the blade to cut through Andrew's tendons like he'd said he'd do and then leaving Andrew to Riko's men. It hadn't been a good night, and hearing Abram's panicked breaths as he fought off his own internal demons hadn't helped.

There'd been pancakes again that morning, blueberry that time; Abram's hand had trembled when he'd set the plate on the island and his eyes were shadowed, but he managed a slight smile for Andrew before he choked down half a slice of toast then retreated to the living room. They were careful to give each other space but to keep each other in sight for the day. They were just beginning to circle closer to each other, to put the nightmares behind them, so of course that was when Lloyd decided to show up.

Andrew was exhausted, his body still ached and he had pulled a couple of stitches in his right arm with that punch which Abram had taken care of, so to say that his mood wasn't the best was an understatement. "Go away."

"Sorry, not until we have a little chat," Lloyd insisted; he was dressed up for once in a decent suit with his hair combed back and had a slight smile on his face though his eyes were flat with the lack of emotion. "I gave you and Abram a few days to heal, but this needs to be settled now."

"Let's get this over with," Abram said, his voice still containing a bit of a rasp but much better since he'd let his throat rest as much as possible. "Coffee?"

"Let me get that, you go sit down," Liz urged, and Abram shrugged after a couple of seconds then went to sit on the loveseat in his usual spot. Andrew gave Lloyd a dirty look for a couple of seconds longer before he joined his idiot, while Jamie took a spot on the couch.

"I must say, the two of you look atrocious," Lloyd declared as he motioned at Abram and Andrew; Andrew hadn't bothered with shaving much because of his face, while Abram's hair was a tousled mess and he was wearing clothes large enough to make him look like a ten year old who had raided his father's closet. Add to that all the bruises and stitches, and Andrew had to admit that the bastard had a point.

"We weren't expecting company," Abram said with obvious annoyance. "If our appearances displease you so much, you can fuck off."

Someone was getting their snark back.

"Ah yes, I can tell that it's going to be so much fun, working with you. Speaking of which," Lloyd smiled as he reached into an inner pocket of his suit and pulled out some folded papers and a pen, which he handed over to Andrew, who stared at them as if they would bite him. "I need you to sign these."

"No."

"Come now, don't be like that, Abram already did."

Andrew turned to glare at his idiot, who sighed and shook his head. "I had to in order to get him to cooperate with us."

Andrew's glare went up a notch as he looked back at Lloyd. "There's already a nice big hole out in the backyard, you know." It was around then that Liz returned to the living room with two mugs held in each hand.

"Oh, great, work out time?" she asked as she handed out the coffee; Andrew noticed that she'd at least added milk to his. "I'll hold his limbs, someone else can do the chopping."

Lloyd sighed as he set the papers down on the coffee table. "It's not like I'm asking you to sign over your soul or into indentured slavery, dammit, it's a standard contract with the usual S.C.I. clause. Authorized background check, which I've already done, no spilling state secrets on the pain of... well, quite a lot of pain, I think you're well aware of that by now, pledging loyalty to state and crown, signing away one or two civil liberties but we do need to ensure that you're not selling us out now and then, it's completely understandable, yes? We do make up for it with a quite nice pension and health plan, if I do say so myself."

"And what do you expect out of us in return?" Andrew asked as he set his coffee aside and slipped a knife free. "To make Abram watch how many more tapes of people raping someone?" Beside him, Abram flinched, nearly spilling his own coffee.

"Bloody hell," Jamie said, her voice raw and expression furious. "You did what?"

Lloyd's smile slipped away, to be replaced by something cold. "We do what needs to be done, and that includes stopping some very nasty people. I wish I could say that it'll never happen again, but I'd be lying. However, I look after my people and I will... do my best to avoid such things in the future."

"Your best." That wasn't a promise.

"My best," Lloyd agreed. "I don't want to traumatize an employee, but the job needs to be done."

When Andrew went to stand up so he could do some 'traumatizing’ of his own, Abram tugged on his sleeve to stop him. "No, it's fine," Abram said, his voice rougher than it had been a few minutes ago. "I understand." Then he looked over at Lloyd. "What else? What else is there?"

"Good to see someone understands," Lloyd muttered, now appearing a bit irate as he tugged on the front lapels of his coat. "You can still work for your family, since it's been determined that they're an ideal cover for the both of you, but on a nominal basis," he told them. "That means translation work only, and you clear it through me when it comes to any traveling." He gave Jamie a cool look while he spoke. "Their work for the agency comes first, and I better not learn of them taking part of any 'questioning' - at least, not without authorizing it first, and no 'hands on' work. At least, not for the family.” That last bit was directed at Andrew and Abram.

Jamie's mouth twisted for a moment, and then she shook her head. "In other words, you continue to find a use for us."

"I believe you benefit from this as well, no?" Lloyd smiled as he sank back in the chair. "Or would you prefer that I come up with a new cover story entirely?"

Liz paused in sipping her coffee to glance at her boss. "Seriously, I'm fine with getting a bit messy today. There's a spare change of clothes in the boot of the car."

"So much for the fish pond," Abram muttered, which earned him a pull on an unruly curl.

Meanwhile, Jamie smiled a little while she shook her head. "It's up to you, little cousin. Does that sound acceptable?"

"It's better than I expected," Abram admitted while he twisted in the seat to look over at Andrew. "What about you?"

Andrew gave Lloyd a bland look while he picked up the pen. "Don't expect us to just jump when you say so - I want to know why you're having us do things and what's involved." What it would mean for Abram and all of the risks.

Lloyd held his gaze for several seconds and then nodded. "As much as I'm able to, yes. I'm not always well-informed myself, you know."

That would have to do, Andrew supposed, as he inched over to the edge of the seat so he could sign the papers. As soon as he was done, Lloyd snatched them away. "Well then, I'll give the two of you another couple of weeks to rest up before I bring you in to the office. There’ll be a bit of side-eyeing because of you two being a thing,” he threw out there as if a casual mention, “but I explained it to the higher-ups. Not exactly condoned, but it’s already a done deal, obviously.” Before Andrew or Abram could say anything, Lloyd smiled at Abram. “How's the Arabic coming along?"

Abram sighed. "It's coming," he confessed. "Give me another couple of months at least."

"Splendid, just what I wanted to hear. I suppose I'll see myself out?" Lloyd didn't appear surprised when Liz got up to escort him to the door.

While the spook left, Andrew picked up his mug and had a sip, and was surprised to find that Liz had gotten it mostly right - it was almost sweet enough. Beside him, Abram set his mug down mostly untouched. "How's Ally?"

Jamie's expression darkened. "A little better, now that he's with Mum and Dad." She set her coffee down as well. "Guilty over Tori and the two of you, angry that he never got a shot at those bastards, which is good, and mostly furious at himself. It'll take some time."

Abram seemed to think about that for a minute. "Will you... will you be all right? The family I mean, with-"

Jamie cut him off with a quick shake of her head. "What did we say about being selfish, hmm? Though you really haven’t been, not when you helped out Ally and Andrew." She gave Andrew a quick grin. "Not when you'll still be around, even if just a little. We'll manage, little cousin. Maybe get you to help train a couple of people, which would be for the best in the long run. We never should have relied on one person so much."

They never should have relied on _Abram_ so much, made him responsible for so many things, but he'd been dependable and taken it all on, Andrew was willing to bet. Now to make sure that Lloyd didn't take advantage of the idiot.

Liz returned and they talked about other things for a little while, such as Jamie sending some people to work on the back 'garden', then Jamie seemed to notice how exhausted the two of them were because she stood up while saying that they’d have a new car for Abram tomorrow and that people would be by soon to work on the garden. She came over to give Abram a quick kiss while Liz said she’d have more things from Liliya when she dropped off the car, then both women left.

Abram went to pick up the mugs, but Andrew stopped him. “Do you have a problem with working for Lloyd?”

Abram huffed over the question as he sank back down on the loveseat, his body turned around a little more so he could better face Andrew. “I should be asking you that, since you’re stuck working with him because of me.”

“I could have said ‘no’,” Andrew insisted. “I didn’t.” He had a feeling that Jamie would have found him something else to do in the organization if he had, but he’d rather watch a certain idiot’s back.

“It’s not ideal, but….” Abram sighed as he inched his right hand toward Andrew’s left, and after a slight nod threaded their fingers together. “Everything I did before was for the family. While it might not be so personal anymore, there is some comfort in knowing that there’s a reason for what I’ll be doing now.”

Andrew scoffed at that. “Don’t tell me that you’ve become an idealist.”

That made Abram laugh a little, the sound raspy because of his throat. “Not totally, but Lloyd does seem earnest in protecting the country. I doubt it’s completely ‘for queen and country’, but it’s probably more for England’s benefit than not.” He glanced down for a moment and then up at Andrew. “And I switched sides for the best of reasons, in my opinion.”

He’d ‘switched sides’ because of Andrew. “You’re such a fucking idiot.”

“Hmm, so you say.” Still, Abram smiled at him.

“Yes or no?” Andrew asked, and when Abram gave his consent, spent a short while kissing his idiot breathless, kissing as much as his tattered face allowed before the pain made him stop. Until then he enjoyed the feel of Abram’s lips against his own, the soft brush of fingertips along his jaw and through his hair, the silky slide of Abram’s curls between his own fingers.

They made dinner together, just some soup and grilled cheese sandwiches, with Abram complaining about what Andrew wanted to add to the sandwiches and even laughing a little as he fought to keep from having jam added to the ones he considered ‘his’. When they were finished, they went up to their bed (Andrew stilled for a moment when he realized that he’d thought of it as ‘theirs’, then gave up because he was tired and the damn thing was comfortable) so Abram could study and Andrew read.

There were a couple of nightmares that night, but they were tired enough that they quickly fell back to sleep. Things didn’t seem so bad the next morning, especially when Andrew got his chocolate chip pancakes and Abram ate a real breakfast, and were arguing over what to order for dinner when Liz and Bren showed up with the new Aston Martin and some shopping bags filled with new linens, along with some more groceries.

“Now you can stop being a larcenous prat,” Abram told Andrew as he shoved a pile of bath towels at him.

“I’m about to throttle you again, it was so nice with you not being able to talk for a couple of days,” Andrew informed his idiot.

Bren sighed while he shook his head and gave Liz a mournful look. “See? This is why they need to teach kids sex education in secondary. They get all confused when it comes to foreplay and stuff.”

Liz laughed at that while shaking her head. “I’m staying out of that one.”

“You’re not being amusing,” Andrew warned while he eyed the block of knives on the counter with obvious intent; because of his healing cuts, he couldn’t wear his armbands just yet.

“Be good,” Abram told him while handing over a mug of hot chocolate – somehow he’d gotten more of the same brand that Bee had always used. The distraction served long enough for Bren and Liz to safely get out of the house.

Abram made some pasta for lunch, that time with vodka sauce and mushrooms, while Andrew stood behind him, his arm loose around his idiot’s waist and watching from over his idiot’s shoulder to make sure he really wasn’t trying to poison them, and they sat down looking over the designs that Jamie had sent them for the garden. They didn’t really care too much what was done with it, other than to pick the least elaborate design, and Abram smiled when he noticed the large bench drawn by the fish pond. For himself, Andrew didn’t understand why his idiot wanted to watch a bunch of fish swim around in an overlarge aquarium, but he felt that damn feeling in his chest when he remembered how Abram had described it – about _them_ sitting out there together.

The damn doctors said his heart was perfectly fine, back in the hospital. That he was perfectly healthy, considering everything that had happened, though he should consider cutting back on the cigarettes and the drinking.

They were both studying after lunch (Andrew had a feeling that he’d best finish up his Russian so he could pick up some Arabic), when they had some more damn guests stop by, which made Andrew a bit wistful for the days when they were left the fuck alone. That time it was Stuart, Davis and Will of all people, which made Abram tense up.

Will, who seemed to be without his own enforcers, shook his head at an obviously nervous Abram. “It’s all right, I’m only stopping by for a few minutes,” he told his nephew in an effort to put him at ease. “I know you’re still recovering.” Something dark flashed across his face, probably as he thought about his own son. “You look better than the last time I saw you,” he told Abram as he reached over to ruffle Abram’s hair.

“Thu-thank you, sir,” Abram said, his eyes wide and hands sliding into the sleeves of his overlarge sweater. Andrew sighed as he grabbed his idiot’s right elbow and pulled him toward the loveseat to get him off his feet. “Ah!” Abram called out on the way. “Tea? Or, uhm, coffee?”

“No, that’s fine,” Will said while shaking his head; like Stuart and Davis, he was dressed in a fine dark suit, but there were shadows beneath his pale grey eyes and he appeared a bit more aged than the last time Andrew had seen him, a bit more worn down. Having one’s son carved up by psychopaths could do that to a person, Andrew supposed. Yet Will’s voice was still deep and commanding, his motions steady and eyes aware. “I just wanted to go over a few things with you, considering the recent changes.”

“Jamie told us about your talk with Lloyd,” Stuart explained as he hovered near the loveseat – hovered near Abram. “That he’s letting you work for the family on a limited basis, but you’re effectively MI6 now.”

“Yes,” Abram leaned a little against Andrew, careful to put his weight against Andrew’s shoulder and not his arm. “We both are.” He shifted his gaze toward Will. “I’m sorry, I know it means-“

Will cut him off with a curt motion of his right hand. “You did what you needed to get us Ally and Andrew back, I’ve no regrets about it,” he told his idiot nephew, his voice a little rough but expression steady. “Honestly, Ram? I think it’s the best thing for you, I do. Mary never wanted this life for you, for you to join us, and Lloyd’s been right these last few years in that you’re too talented for a bunch of thugs like us.” He smiled when he said that last bit, while Abram stared at his uncle in surprise and Stuart grumbled beneath his breath. “You helped us out a lot, took what I’d been building and made it grow, helped to give it a new direction, and Jamie will continue to run with that, I’ve no doubt in her.” Evident pride shone in the man when he mentioned his daughter. “So don’t worry, all right?”

Abram was quiet for several seconds, until Andrew gave him a slight nudge. “All… all right.”

Will nodded in approval. “So, with that in mind, there’s just a couple of details that Stuart and I felt needed to be tended to, in light of your new position. We wanted to ensure that you’re taken care of, since you’re in a bit of a grey area moving forward.” He pulled out a couple of documents from the inside of his dark blue suit coat. “We set up a new account for you, based on what was Mary’s share of the family’s profits, and what are yours.” He handed that over to Abram, who had to slide his right hand free of the left sleeve of his sweater.

When Abram held the paper so Andrew could see it, Andrew could understand the sharp inhale of his idiot’s breath – that was quite an impressive sum, with a lot of zeros behind it. “But… this is too much!” Abram insisted.

Both Stuart and Will shook their heads. “It’s what owed,” Stuart argued. “It’s basically been yours the entire time, except you’ve been part of the family and never asked for it. We want it separate now, in case anyone tries to give you grief for using ‘family’ funds.”

“But, won’t it hurt the family to lose this much collateral?” Abram asked.

“Don’t worry about us,” Will said with a slight smile. “It won’t harm us, especially when we’re already picking up some new businesses.”

Someone wasn’t wasting any time moving in for the kill, were they? Andrew thought to himself. But he had a more pressing question in mind just then. “If you guys had this much money lying around, why did Mary have to steal from her husband?”

That wiped the smile from Will’s face and made Stuart glare at him, while Abram hunched in on himself. “Because that bastard cut off her access to all of her accounts,” Will explained, his expression a bit too blank. “She no longer had any money of her own, despite our best attempts to get any to her. And even when she ran back here, she refused to touch it – she knew taking anything connected to us would be a sign that we were helping her and Abram, that we were getting involved.”

“So damn stubborn,” Stuart muttered while rubbing at his face, his expression one of pure grief. It was one of the rare times when Andrew agreed with him, that Mary had indeed been so damn stubborn, had been _too_ _damn_ stubborn. Too prideful, too, because he was willing to bet it was more than just what Will had said that had kept her from accepting her family’s help.

Unfortunately, the past was the past and nothing could change it. What they were left with were its scars, its remnants, and the present. At least Mary’s brothers seemed earnest in doing right by her son, and that slip of paper with the bank account numbers was very earnest indeed. It would go a good ways to ensure that Abram could do whatever he wanted with the rest of his life – as much as his new contract with Lloyd allowed.

Somehow, Andrew suspected that a person who had managed to live on the run for several years from a bunch of determined psychopaths could put that money to good use if he got tired of being a civil servant.

Will handed over the other pack of papers. “Here’s the deed to the townhouse, in your name,” he told his nephew with a slight smile on his lips. “It seems you’ve taken a liking to the place.”

Abram blinked at that and made to accept the papers, then shook his head. “Please, have them redone with Andrew’s name on them as well.”

“What the fuck?” Stuart nearly fell off of the side of the loveseat, while Andrew frowned at his idiot.

Abram shook his head again at the incredulous looks. “He lives here, it’s as much his… his home as mine,” he said with a stubborn jut of his jaw.

Will studied his nephew for a few seconds and then nodded, seeming oddly pleased as he put the papers back into his coat. “Very well, it’ll be done tomorrow.” He groaned a little as he stood up. “That was it, basically, we just wanted to make sure you had a home and a means to pay for it in case the SIS change their minds on their stance about the family at some point. As long as you’re doing any work for us, you’ll still get some of the profits, but I don’t trust those bastards to not pull something in the long run.”

Abram scrambled to stand up as well, wincing a little because of his hip, so Andrew helped him in the end. “Thank you,” he told Will, and then Stuart as well.

“You’re welcome, kiddo. You’re still one of us, don’t ever forget that.” Stuart gave him a tentative hug, mindful of Abram’s left shoulder and everything else, as did Will.

“How is… how is Ally?” Abram asked as he stepped away from his uncle.

Will sighed and shook his head. “He’s slowly getting better. Miriam is talking to him about maybe doing something else, but he still wants to work for the family. Says he wants to do better now.” Will shrugged, as if uncertain, but smiled a little. “We’ll give him a bit longer to make up his mind.”

Abram nodded, and then gave Davis a wan smile when the enforcer tousled his hair on his way to the door. As soon as the three men left, he headed into the kitchen to make some tea, and Andrew followed.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Andrew told him.

“Yes, I did.”

“No.”

Abram sighed but didn’t say anything until the hot water kettle was filled and boiling. “You live here, too. If something happens to me, where would you go?” He turned around to face Andrew. “Back with Nicky?”

“Fuck no,” Andrew said as he folded his arms over his chest, mindful of the healing cuts.

“You can’t go back to the States, you heard what the man said,” Abram reminded him – as if he needed that. “Your name goes on the deed.”

Andrew frowned as he crossed the space between them and braced his hands on either side of Abram’s hips; he watched his idiot’s face, but Abram didn’t appear upset at being pinned in against the counter. “Nothing is going to happen to you. There’s our promise.”

“Then it’s not a problem, your name being on the deed.”

“Hmm, I’m stuck for half the taxes and upkeep,” Andrew pointed out as he shifted a little closer.

Abram was slow to lift his arm, and at Andrew’s slight nod draped it over Andrew’s left shoulder. “Then I’ll transfer a few million pounds into your account so you won’t have to worry about things like that. There, all settled,” Abram said with a slight nod.

Who the hell- Andrew drew in a shaky breath as his right hand settled on Abram’s left hip, as it wormed its way beneath soft cotton to feel warm, smooth skin. “You’re giving me money to pay for a house that should be all yours?” A blithering idiot - an impossible, gorgeous, blithering idiot. There was no way even Andrew’s fucked up mind could have dreamed this up.

“But it’s not all mine,” Abram tried to argue as his fingers lightly teased through Andrew’s hair. “You live here. It’s just as much your home as mine.” He closed his eyes for a moment and took a deep breath while a sad smile curled his lips. “Not much of a point to it if you’re not here.”

Andrew thought about that for a few seconds, and then he leaned in to nuzzle along the left side of Abram’s face. “Yes or no?” he asked when he pulled away, and wasn’t surprised when Abram said ‘yes’.

He led the way upstairs, and quickly pulled off his clothes so he could help the idiot because of the sling; Abram hesitated for a moment but left it off, and Andrew was mindful of his left arm, the shoulder still bruised, as he helped his friend lower onto the bed with his upper body propped up.

Perhaps it wasn’t a good idea, considering that they were still bruised and at least a couple of days away from having any stitches removed, but it felt so good to gently touch Abram’s body, to feel Abram’s right hand caress his back and Abram’s mouth along his neck while Andrew stroked both of their cocks in his hands. To see something on his idiot’s face besides pain or exhaustion, to hear his name gasped out loud with such need and longing.

So it didn’t take long before Abram was shuddering against him, fingers digging into his shoulder and face pressed against his neck, while Andrew pressed his own face against soft curls and rode out the potent ecstasy a few seconds longer, breathed in the scent of cedar and lemongrass as he felt a jolt of pleasure sear through him from dry lips brushing against his neck right before he came as well.

He was used to giving up everything for people, _had_ given up everything for Abram. He hadn’t expected Abram to give up everything for him, to hand Andrew everything he’d ever wanted; a home, something he was good at, something people respected him for that he didn’t find boring. An idiot who made him breakfast and hot chocolate and asked him ‘yes or no’.

An idiot who allowed him to slump his weight against him, despite the fact that Abram’s ribs still had to be sore and his shoulder aching. Despite the mess, they remained wrapped around each other as much as possible, as close as possible for the first time since that awful day when they’d gone to Ally’s home.

“So,” Abram said, his voice a bit rough once again. “We have a house.”

Andrew grunted as he shifted a little more comfortably on top of his bony idiot. “Nicky’s really going to insist on his own room when he hears about that.”

“Yeah.” Abram closed his eyes and hummed a little. “It’s going to take a little getting used to, how everything’s changing. The house and the new job… not having to worry about my father anymore.”

The idiot was probably going to insist on the morning runs again as soon as his hip was better, dammit. “So there’s less people shooting at us – oh, wait, that’s just _me_ ,” Andrew pointed out.

“I wonder why.” Abram frowned. “I think it is indeed _you_ , _hon_ , so good luck with that.”

“What are you trying to say, _babe_?” Andrew asked with narrowed eyes.

“That you bring out the whole ‘shooting’ thing in people,” Abram told him.

“And who is it with the whole attempted kidnapping thing, hmm? I better get hazard pay to keep you out of some terrorist group’s hands, dammit,” Andrew complained. “How long until I can retire?”

Something in what he said made Abram smile, the expression a bit shy but still enough to make his chest fill up with that damn annoying warmth. “How awful, you being stuck with me that long.”

Andrew stared down at him for several seconds before leaning in a little closer. “This is… this is nothing….” Dammit, he frowned while he tried to figure out the thoughts in his head while the smile faded from Abram’s face. “What do you think this is?”

Abram was quiet for several heartbeats before he slipped his hand around the back of Andrew’s neck to tug him down close enough to feel Abram’s breath against his lips. “I think it’s whatever we make it.”

That was something Andrew could live with, that he could accept. He knew what he wanted, and it was sprawled beneath him at the moment staring back at him with such an openness that he couldn’t breathe. So instead he pressed his lips against Abram’s for a kiss that expressed all of the intensity he felt, at least for the first few seconds, and then gentled after that with Abram’s face cupped between his hands.

The kiss lasted for over a minute, and then Andrew broke it off with a faint groan. “Come on, shower.”

Abram moaned at having to move, then winced because of his shoulder; Andrew thought a few dark thoughts about Riko and hoped that Stuart and Jamie had made the prick’s death a particularly painful one before his staged crash.

Then something else occurred to him – Liz and Jamie had said ‘new’ car, hadn’t they? That a new car was getting dropped off because of whatever Abram had done to the Vanquish. Did that mean that they’d replaced it with a similar model or with something else? Feeling curious, he rushed Abram through the shower so they could go check out what was in the garage of _their_ townhouse.

*******

Abram smiled as he looked out over the back garden; the landscapers were only about halfway complete with the project, but they had finished the water feature at least since it was one of the things they’d started on first, had filled the pond with plants and water the other day and the fish that morning.

“Doesn’t it look nice?” he asked Andrew, who was sitting on the cedar bench next to him, a mug of coffee in one hand and his arm stretched out over the top of the bench; the last of their stitches had finally been removed and the bruises had faded, leaving Andrew with reddish lines from the cuts that Abram’s father had made in his… in his lover’s face. Lover. Abram was still adjusting to that rather big change in their relationship, but he couldn’t deny it anymore, not when Andrew had basically promised to stay with him and protect him, when he’d joined MI6 for him. When he’d endured Abram’s father in Abram’s place and killed the man, just like he’d swore he’d do.

The doctor said that the scars he’d gained from Nathan Wesninski would fade in time and if they bothered Andrew there was always plastic surgery, but Andrew didn’t seem concerned with them at the moment, them or the faint bump along the bridge of his nose from where it had been broken.

Abram didn’t care about them, either. They didn’t detract from his lover’s handsome looks, didn’t make Abram desire Andrew any less. If anything, they were a reminder of how far Andrew was willing to go to protect him, how strong Andrew was to be able to stand up to someone like Nathan Wesninski and not break.

“At least we’ll always have some food on hand,” Andrew drawled as he stared at the pond with a bland look. “Just grab a couple of them and fry them up.”

“Prat,” Abram huffed as he sat back on the bench, and smiled when he felt Andrew’s fingers slide through his hair; it wouldn’t be too much longer before they would have to start working for Lloyd, just another week or so, and Nicky and Erik were due to visit soon after that. Only a little bit more of their peace and quiet, of them being able to laze about doing whatever they wanted.

They sat out there a little longer, Abram content to be next to Andrew and watching the multi-color carp swim along the large pond, before Andrew nudged him in the side so they could go get ready for dinner. Now that they didn’t look like disaster victims, save for Abram’s left arm still being in a sling, which it would be in for a while to come, they were able to leave the townhouse again. They still had to be careful in case there was any retribution for Riko’s or Nathan’s death, but for the most part things had quieted down over the past ten days.

Abram was growing annoyed over his left shoulder, but it hurt a little less with each passing day as long as he didn’t use it too much and kept applying the cold patches, and Andrew helped him with getting dressed. It seemed with each passing day more and more of Andrew’s items were creeping into Abram’s bedroom, but he didn’t say anything, not when it helped at night to see his lover in the bed they shared.

It truly did take some getting used to, thinking of Andrew as his lover, but they appeared to have committed to building a life together. There was the townhouse and the jobs at MI6, waking up (mostly) together and Abram no longer having to fear his past so much.

“Come on, I’m hungry,” Andrew told Abram as he tugged him toward the stairs.

“You’re always hungry,” Abram complained. “You should have had the doctors look into that, see if they could explain that black hole of a stomach of yours, _hon_.”

“Then they might be able to figure out that black hole inside of your head instead of a brain, _babe_ ,” Andrew shot back, which made Abram smile despite himself.

They took the DB11 which Abram couldn’t drive because of his left arm, a mere excuse for Andrew to play with a new toy, and Abram had to sit through yet another lecture about not getting any blood on _that_ car’s seats or to let it get shot up with bullet holes until he threatened in a very sweet voice to put some arsenic in the morning’s hotcakes.

They went to Shoreditch to get something to eat that night, and parked the car in a garage not too far from the restaurant. It was a windy, cool evening so Abram huddled in his coat while he walked next to Andrew, grateful for his solid presence, and frowned when his lover attracted a few gaping stares. The hostess at the restaurant stared a beat too long then summoned a smile and took them to their table, while their server, a young man with a faint South Caribbean accent, did a much better job of hiding any curiosity he might have over their appearances.

Abram thought Andrew looked very handsome with his black sweater clinging to his impressive upper body, and his pale blond hair which he’d gotten trimmed in a very short cut save for the bit of fringe framing his face gleaming in the candlelight. He looked almost stern, save for those full lips and the bright light of intelligence in his hazel eyes, the faint sardonic twist to his mouth when he looked at Abram as if thinking ‘idiot’.

“You’re staring,” he chided Abram.

“I’ve every reason to be,” Abram said as he set the wine list aside. “Why, is that a bad thing?”

“This country is doomed, if it’s counting on you to help protect it,” Andrew quipped as he set his dinner menu aside as well, and the server returned before Abram could make a comeback.

They enjoyed a lovely dinner, even if Abram had to struggle to eat everything right-handed, which Andrew of course still found amusing. He sat there while Andrew enjoyed some chocolate tart for dessert, and then the two of them left to go home.

“Is there anything in the States that you’ll miss?” Abram asked, continuing the discussion that they’d had back in the restaurant. “Now that you’re stuck here?”

Andrew shrugged while lighting a cigarette. “Not really. I’ve got my cars, my whiskey, my cigarettes and my books. Your chocolate’s pretty good, too.”

“All the necessities of life,” Abram said with a dry tone, which earned him some ash flicked his way. “You’re definitely having your U.S. citizenship revoked, since there was no mention of guns in there, or sports.”

“Don’t make me prove that I can commit a perfectly fine homicide without the first, _babe_ , and I’ve had more than enough of the second.” Andrew gave Abram a narrowed look for a couple of seconds before blowing smoke his way.

“Hmm.” Abram smiled as he bumped his right shoulder against Andrew’s. “I suppose-“

He was interrupted by someone yelling at a few kids running the opposite way down the street, and a couple of people who appeared as if dressed for a night out on the town – two women in short dresses and jackets along with a guy in jeans and nice jumper – crouched down by something. Abram frowned when he heard the women making ‘aw’ sounds and the guy curse, especially when the other man came over while ranting about stupid kids.

Andrew tensed beside him, eyes darting around and body shifting to move a bit in front of Abram while his arms hung loose at his sides. Meanwhile, Abram thought he heard one of the women say ‘what about the two of them?’.

Curious and well aware that Andrew would probably want to throttle him for that emotion, he stepped closer to the group – closer but still out of reach, and made sure that Andrew was between him and the two men since he still had the bum arm and all, and noticed that the women were fussing over what looked to be two kittens huddled around a prone patch of fur. “What happened?”

One of the men, who appeared around his and Andrew’s age, motioned down the streets. “Fucking kids, they-“

“We don’t know that, Roger,” the other guy said, standing up from where the women were petting the kittens. “You didn’t give them a chance to explain before you started yelling.”

The one man’s face grew flushed while he scoffed. “Whatever. Anyway, looks like there’s some stray kittens.” He turned back to the women. “Don’t touch them, Amy, you don’t know if they’ve got any fleas or shite. Come on, we’re going to be late.”

“But they’re so young and-“

“Come on,” the man snapped while reaching for her elbow. “I’m not losing that reservation. We’ll call the RSPCA on the way.”

The woman made a token effort of complaint as she was pulled onto her feet, and her companions fell in step as well, leaving the two mewling kittens with what turned out to be their dead mother in the small window-well set into the sidewalk for one of the lower level shops. The poor thing must have curled up in there for shelter, probably after being hit by something, and died a few hours ago from the looks of it. The kittens appeared to be a few weeks old since their eyes were open and they were moving around, a little grey, black and white tortoiseshell and a grey and black tabby.

Abram looked from the kittens over to Andrew, whose eyebrows went up. “Don’t tell me you are seriously thinking what I think you’re thinking.”

“They’re going to die if no one does anything,” Abram said as he crouched down near the window-well; one of the kittens tried to climb out but it couldn’t, unable to manage the metal surface.

“It’s called the circle of life.” Andrew gave a tug to Abram’s hair and then sighed when Abram didn’t move. “ _Fuck_ , maybe they’ll eat the damn fish,” he grumbled as he crouched down as well, busy removing his leather jacket. “You’re taking care of the damn things, I’m not touching a food bowl or a filthy litter box.”

Abram smiled at his lover in gratitude. “Of course. Thank you.”

“This is ridiculous,” Andrew snapped as he scooped up the mewling creatures. “And you’re calling Liliya about a new coat for me, I’m burning it after this.”

“Of course,” Abram repeated as the bundle of kittens was dropped into his arms.

He had to look up an animal clinic that was open so they could get the kittens checked out, then explain to a laughing Bren about why they needed some stuff at home for when they returned – things like litter boxes and whatever else one needed for cats. Abram had never owned a pet before, not with his father in that awful house back in Baltimore, and definitely not when on the run with his mother.

The vet, a kind young woman who smiled at them when she heard the story behind their visit, told them that the kittens were about seven weeks and so could eat kitten food, examined them and took some blood work, had the techs take them back to bathe them in something that smelled a lot like mouthwash to kill their fleas (Andrew wasn’t happy about that, so Abram sent a text to Bren asking him to pick up some extra ice cream and pastries, and another to Liliya about a new jacket), then gave them a couple of shots and something for worms. She mentioned things like vaccination schedules and neutering and several other things which Abram was rather surprised about since it seemed like so much for two small creatures – creatures he couldn’t even figure out what to name – but Andrew was there and he knew his lover would remember everything. They left with two reasonably healthy and much cleaner kittens, a list of possible vets and a record of their visit, with the kittens in a cardboard carrier and Andrew’s jacket thrown in the trash.

“Can you guess what _I’m_ thinking now, _babe_?”

“Well, you’re already getting breakfasts,” Abram said with a sigh. “So what, an extra night out for dinner, _hon_?”

“Oh no, you just signed us up for how many years of hairballs and shit? I get veto rights on your morning runs whenever I want,” Andrew declared, while a yowling sound arise from the box on Abram’s lap. “ _Fleas_ ,” Andrew muttered, and Abram wisely decided to let his lover have that one.

They came home to a beaming Bren, who had gone a bit overboard, judging from the bags of cat toys, snacks and a huge cat tower, of all things, which he was currently putting together. “Aw, look at you! Already adopting, I see. Where are the precious darlings?”

“You have a death wish,” Abram gravely informed his friend while Andrew gave the cat tower the evil eye. “And here they are.” He opened the box to lift out the kittens; the tabby was docile in his hand while the tortoiseshell made a swiping motion at Bren.

“Ha, one of them takes after Andrew already!” Bren laughed, which made Andrew direct the evil look his way. “Just wait until I tell Stuart that he’s a great-uncle now!” Bren took out his phone to snap a picture, while Abram shook his head at Andrew, who was fingering his left armband.

“Uhm, I think we have it from here,” Abram told the enforcer, who just seemed to realize that Andrew wasn’t in the best of moods. “Thanks for everything.”

“Sure, any time.” Bren backed his way to the front door, busy typing something on his phone, while Andrew glared at him the entire time. Then Andrew took to glaring at the kittens, who were tumbling over themselves on the floor.

“You’re an idiot,” he declared while toeing one of the kittens aside so he could finish making the cat tower. “Also, what are you naming these things? Dumb and Dumber, in your honor?”

“Uhm, I don’t know?” Abram hadn’t given it much thought, to be honest. He’d just seen the poor things and hadn’t been able to leave them in the cold – it still was a bit of a shock, knowing that he was now the owner of two cats.

To busy himself (and give Andrew some time to adjust to things as well), he went through everything that Bren had bought and put the cat food away in one of the lower cabinets, made sure they knew about the litter box in the one spare closet on the first floor which they never used, filled up the fancy water fountain and put down some kitten food which the two attacked once they figured out it was edible. It was around then when Nicky called Andrew, probably to talk about his upcoming trip, and Andrew asked him if he was allergic to cats. He seemed disappointed with Nicky’s answer (Abram assumed it was ‘no’), and mentioned that they now had cats.

Abram could hear Nicky’s excited squeal from over a meter away, and figured it wouldn’t be much longer before Andrew got annoyed and ended the call. Sure enough, Andrew refused to answer his cousin’s questions and hung up a minute or two later.

So Nicky called Abram. He was still getting used to Nicky reaching out to him like that, but Nicky had started to do it in the last week or so, saying something along the lines of ‘it’s clear that they were going to be family so time to act like it’. Abram thought that was rather presumptive of the man… but he had to admit, Nicky could usually make him laugh.

He didn’t think that he’d ever talked to someone just because they made him laugh, before Nicky.

“You have cats?” Nicky asked as soon as Abram answered the phone. “Since when do you have cats?”

“Ah, since tonight,” Abram explained. “We found them when we were out to dinner and brought them home. They’re just kittens.”

“Aw,” Nicky declared. “That is so adorable.” He pulled away from the phone to say something to Erik in German. “I can’t believe that Andrew let you bring home a couple of kittens! I tried to get him to adopt a dog or something back when he and Aaron were in high school, but no way.”

Abram shrugged even though Nicky couldn’t see it. “I think I’m going to be stuck taking care of them,” he admitted.

“Right.” For some reason, Nicky seemed amused. “So what are their names?”

“I don’t know yet, I still have to figure it out.” Abram frowned as he watched the tabby tackle the tortoiseshell. “Maybe Spot and Tabby?”

Nicky groaned. “Oh my god, you can’t do that! You have to give them something unique, something a cat will respect. Something like Furry Fury McFurious or-“ It just got worse from there, with Nicky going through an insane litany of names until Abram had some very serious fears about the man and Erik ever having any children of their own.

Maybe he and Andrew should set up a therapy fund for the poor child.

Finally he ended the call, claiming that he was tired and had to go, even though Nicky was still on him about naming the cats. By that point, the kittens had found the bed Bren had bought and were curled up in it. Abram stared down at them in wonderment, until Andrew pulled him away.

“Maybe we should watch them, what if they get up in the middle of the night and-“

“They’re cats, they’re definitely going to get up in the middle of the night,” Andrew said, his tone more than a little sour. “They’re meant to be able to look after themselves, so leave them alone.”

“All right.” Abram realized that he’d spent the last couple of hours fussing over the kittens and talking to Nicky, and smiled at Andrew as they made their way upstairs. Once they’d gotten ready for bed, he reached out to place his hand on Andrew’s chest, mindful of the new scars hidden beneath the thin t-shirt, and asked ‘yes or no’.

They were still finding their balance after what had happened at Ally’s house and the hanger, and a little hampered by Abram’s shoulder, but Andrew said ‘yes’ and Abram was very pleased to show his lover what a wonderful man he was that night, with Andrew sitting on the edge of the bed and Abram kneeling between his legs to give him a blow job. Then Andrew pulled Abram onto his lap and fingered him to an explosive orgasm, to the point that Andrew had to half-carry him to the bathroom so he could clean up before crawling into their bed.

There weren’t any nightmares that night.

Abram slipped out of the bed as quietly as he could the next morning, prompting a slight grumble from Andrew who pulled the covers up to his nose and went back to sleep while Abram hurried into the bathroom and then out after a couple of minutes. He went downstairs to find a blanket dragged off of the couch and one kitten on the cat tower, the other halfway down the steps to the garage. Both were carried into the kitchen (the sling was great for that), where they made frantic sounds once the food was brought out and then acted as if they’d never been fed once their dish was put down on the floor.

He made the mistake of checking his phone before he got started on breakfast, and was shocked to see his inbox flooded with texts and emails from Jamie, Stuart, Nicky and various Hatford employees. There were demands for pictures of the kittens, and Nicky proclaiming that he’d started a poll during the night and it had been decided that the cats’ official names would be Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins.

Abram’s first thought was, how the hell had Nicky started such a poll? His second one was, did a bunch of enforcers and other people who worked for a criminal organization really have nothing better to do one night than vote on several ridiculous cat names?

Going through the messages, it seemed that yes, they indeed had nothing better to do. Also, Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins weren’t even the worst possible names out there. Abram felt the strong urge to bash his head against the countertop in the overwhelming disbelief that this was his life. Instead, he stood there with his right hand pressed over his eyes for about a minute, until a kitten attempted to climb up his right leg.

He set the kittens on the cat tower then got to work on Andrew’s breakfast, and had just finished the hotcakes when Andrew showed up – a grumpy expression on his face that wasn’t helped by a kitten attacking his feet. “Oh, they’re still alive, what a shame.”

Abram handed him a mug of prepared coffee and risked leaning in for a quick kiss. “Breakfast?”

He received a grunt in return, and set the large plate of chocolate chip and nutella hotcakes down on the island; Andrew eyed the stack for a moment before trying one then grunted again, that time in satisfaction. He grabbed more of them then added syrup and whipped cream, while Abram made himself a couple of eggs; he was getting good at cooking one-handed.

It wasn’t until breakfast was finished that he brought up the kittens and their new names. “So, it seems that the kittens have names now,” Abram told Andrew while he sat at the island with a mug of tea held in his right hand. When his lover didn’t say anything, Abram gathered his courage and dared a nervous smile. “They’re officially Sir Fat Cat McCatterson and King Fluffkins.”

All Andrew did was stare at him without any expression, even when the kittens tumbled into the kitchen while mock fighting each other. Abram took a sip of his tea while waiting for some sort of reaction, and gave up after more than a minute had passed. “What do you think?”

“I hate Nicky, and I’m not too fond of you right now,” Andrew said before he got up to fetch some more coffee, while Abram winced. Well, that had gone about as good as he’d expected.

Abram took care of the dishes and made himself some more tea, then curled up on the loveseat with his laptop to study Arabic while the kittens played in the living room, busy attacking each other and the hand he would dangle down from time to time. It was worth the slight scratches and tiny nips to smile so much, and at some point Andrew must have finished his work-out since Abram looked up to find him watching with a blank expression on his face. When Andrew noticed, he went upstairs for a shower.

When he came downstairs, smelling of his mint shampoo and wearing sweatpants and a t-shirt which left his armbands exposed, he sighed when he had to pick up a kitten – Sir Fat Cat, as Abram was calling him, off of the loveseat so he could sit down next to Abram. “They’re not even big enough to skin for a decent pair of slippers.”

“Andrew!” Yet Abram noticed how his lover was gentle when handling the kitten, so he sighed as he set his laptop aside. “Thank you,” he said as he sat up and, when Andrew didn’t object, draped his arm over Andrew’s broad shoulders. “I appreciate you humoring me on this.”

“I’m drawing the line here and now.” Andrew gave Abram a stern look while slowly pulling him onto his lap. “No more animals. We’ve got the damn fish and now a pair of fleabags, no more.”

“I suppose I can live with that.”

“There’s no ‘supposing’,” Andrew insisted. “I’m not letting you turn our home into a menagerie.”

Something always twisted inside of Abram when Andrew referred to the townhouse as ‘theirs’, even if he’d been the one to have his lover added to the deed; he knew Andrew had been shuffled around from family to family while growing up, always deprived of a real home until his late teens – much like Abram. That Andrew knew the importance of making the townhouse into a ‘home’ – into ‘their home’. So he smiled as he bowed his head until their foreheads touched. “How about I make it up to you, hmm?”

Andrew’s hands stroked along Abram’s back as he seemed to think about that, then settled on the curve of Abram’s ass. “Yes,” he answered, before he gave Abram a gentle push off of his lap. “But not here, I’m not doing it in front of the furballs.”

The offended dignity behind that statement made Abram laugh as he stood up then held out his right hand. “All right, I think they’ll be fine on their own for a little while.”

“They’re _cats,_ ” Andrew reminded him. “If you turn into one of those crazy cat people, I will bury you in the backyard.”

“Then you’ll be stuck taking care of the cats and the fish,” Abram pointed out.

“I’ll tell Nicky that your dying wish was to bequeath the cats to him and cook the fish for dinner,” Andrew declared as he stood up. “Now shut up and come on.” He latched on to the sleeve of Abram’s t-shirt to lead him toward the stairs – but Abram noticed how he was careful to avoid stepping on the kittens, who took to swatting at his feet.

It seemed that someone was protesting a bit too much, Abram thought, but just like the night before, he kept the comment to himself. It wasn’t that terrible of a thing, to put Andrew in a better mood, and Abram’s lover wasn’t the type of man to carry through with those threats. At least, not as long as the kittens kept away from his precious ice cream and whisky.

Sooner or later Andrew would realize that the kittens were two fellow beings who enjoyed nothing better than sleeping and lazing about most of the day and they’d get along fine.

Abram winced when he was jerked forward so his forehead could be flicked. “Ow, what was that for?”

“For being an idiot. You’re supposed to be making things up to me, not digging yourself into a deeper hole,” Andrew said as he stepped into their bedroom.

Abram sighed as he shook his head. “I’m not – fine. Whatever.” He wasn’t even going to ask, he decided as he shut the door behind him. “I’m about to make it up to you with a punch.”

“Not what I had in mind.” Andrew stepped closer, his hands hovering near Abram’s waist, and waited for Abram to nod before he bridged the distance between them for a passionate kiss, his hands resting on Abram’s hips.

Abram moaned a little at the feel of his lover’s mouth on his, the ardent press of lips while warm fingers slid beneath his shirt, and any trace of anger melted away. Even with everything that had happened in the last couple of weeks – the death of his father, the deed to the townhouse, the downfall of the Moriyamas, the new job, the kittens… none of it would have been possible without Andrew. Abram had a home now, but it wasn’t the townhouse, not really. In the end, it was Andrew, that sense of home. If he had to leave the building, had to find a new job or start all over again – all of it was fine, as long as Andrew was at his side.

So he looped his right arm over his lover’s shoulder once Andrew indicated that it was all right, and held tight as if to never let go. Because Abram intended to do just that – to never let Andrew go, not as long as Andrew was going to stand there beside him.

*******

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> The last chapter... *sighs* It's... actually, it's almost 30 pages already, but it's not done. Bah. There's a couple of scenes that I'd in mind way back when I plotted out this fic and I still want to get them out there, even though I think this chapter does a good job of wrapping things up. I hope to get it out next week, but it might be a little late just because it's not flowing as well as all of the previous chapters have in terms of writing. BAH. But I think it ties up one or two things still left hanging and might make one or two people happy.
> 
> Also, songlist! If you've wondered about the chapter titles and so forth, you can go here:  
> https://8tracks.com/nekojitachan/armies
> 
> Some of the songs had a particular lyric or two that inspired the chapter, some an overall theme or mood. Some fit Andrew, some Abram, some both of them.
> 
> As always, the comments and kudos are appreciated!  
> *******


	20. We Are

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My apologies - yesterday was crazy. I thought I'd have time to post this before I had to dash off to a night out with a friend but that didn't happen. But here you go! The last chapter of Armies (though I'm sure there will be little one-offs here and there, showing the boys in their new job, the Hatford gossip network in play, so on and so forth).
> 
> Fair warning, as if to make up for all the angst and dark stuff of the previous chapters, this is rather... not much of that at all.
> 
> I really appreciate all the amazing comments and feedback and kudos for this fic! You've been such great readers!  
> *******

*******

Lloyd 'invited' Andrew and Abram into the office a couple of weeks after the awful day at the hanger, when they'd basically signed themselves over to the MI6. The bruises were gone and the lovely physical souvenirs left by Nathan starting to fade, but Abram's arm was still in a sling and would be for another month at least, and he'd be doing exercises after that to work with the strained muscles. It was obvious that Abram would only be doing translation work for the immediate future - that he better _only_ be doing translation work - and Andrew refused to do anything that would take him from his lover’s side.

They went down to a nondescript building in South Bank instead of to the main SIS location at Vauxhall Cross, which wasn't that surprising, along with the security inside of it. Lloyd had to collect them at the door, where a young man was sitting tucked a bit out of the way so he wasn't immediately noticeable, neither were the muscles beneath his unremarkable suit - nor the gun which one wouldn't notice unless they knew what to look for. After the last few months? Andrew was very good at spotting them.

"Welcome!" Lloyd called out with a cheerful smile. "Chris, these are the two I was talking about, they'll be getting their IDs today."

The young man gave Andrew a polite smile then went back to scanning the monitors off to the side, which showed the feeds of various cameras.

"Not very chatty, but they get it drilled into them to keep their mouths shut and eyes open," Lloyd explained. "If they put up with the boredom and don't fuck up, they move on quicker to the fun stuff." He led them to an elevator, which of course required an access badge and a code before it would move. "We're on the fourth floor, not much of a view but then I doubt you'll be in much."

Lloyd's team consisted of Ashley Lowry, a tall woman in her mid-thirties who was in charge of research and documentation, along with her assistant Maddy Wilcox. Both of them appeared very fit for people who sat behind desks all day, Maddy with a couple of blue streaks in her short black hair and Ashley with her long, dark brown hair pulled back in a simple pony tail. Andrew picked up on the way that their eyes tracked the sleeves of his and Abram's shirts and the careful distance they kept between the two of them at all times, and knew that they were anything but 'desk jockeys'.

Alex Ramirez was a little bit aloof with his greeting, but Andrew soon received the impression that the man was that way with everyone, judging from his coolness with the rest of the 'team'. He appeared relieved that Andrew and Abram knew Mandarin, claiming that his grasp of the language was terribly spotty, and that Abram was coming aboard as the team's new linguist since he was one of their field agents; he had a semi-decent grasp of Russian and knew Tagalog along with Korean. Thomas Horner, an older agent who specialized in German, French and Spanish, was a little friendlier, though he did arch an eyebrow when Lloyd explained how Andrew and Abram would be working together. That left Rita Patel, who was currently on assignment, and Baz Smith, who handled equipment. The tall bastard took one look at Andrew and Abram then scoffed. "I can see why you got two of them, considering how pint-sized they are. I'm going to have to go into the kid's section to outfit the runts."

Abram responded by gracing the man with the smile he'd learned from his father and Andrew a flat look, while Lloyd sighed and shook his head. "Charming as always, Baz. I'm willing to bet that if I turned my back for a minute, it'll be the runts still standing." When all Lloyd did was smile at little at Baz's incredulous scoff, the asshole's smug expression faltered.

"You can't be serious."

"You're looking at Abram Hatford and the man who took out Nathan Wesninski, you stupid git," Lloyd told his subordinate with evident glee. "Which you'd know if you bothered to attend any of the weekly debriefings. Now, another 'runt' comment and you'll be spending three months training the newbies, understood?"

The threat seemed to work on Baz, since he gave a grudging nod while eyeing Andrew and Abram with evident disbelief, and Lloyd waved the two of them into what appeared to be his office – it looked as bland as the man himself, the few items well organized and tucked away. "For the most part we all get along, we have to," Lloyd explained. "I'd like to say that we're given free rein but that's not true, everyone here answers to me and I answer to a long list of people. But we know that if we do our job then it works out well."

"And what is that job?" Abram asked as he sat down in one of the two chairs placed in front of Lloyd's plain metal desk, modern enough to appear slightly out of date in the beige-walled office without any windows and the cheap bookcases filled with neat black cardboard file organizers.

Lloyd waited until they were all sitting to continue. “Look, the SIS is responsible foreign intelligence, which is why I’ve been after you for so long,” he told Abram. “You’re smart, you pick up languages damn quick, you managed to slip in and out of several countries all those years with your mother with almost none the wiser. You know how to blend in and get the information you need, after your time with the Hatfords.”

Then he looked at Andrew. “You’re a bit rougher around the edges, I’ll admit, but you’re intelligent as fuck and you’re good at thinking on your feet. You’re also tough as hell, and I’m willing to bet that no one will touch Abram as long as you’re watching his back. As much as the higher ups aren’t keen on having an involved couple working together, I promised them you two won’t be an issue.” He gave them both a cold look. “Don’t prove me wrong.”

Abram didn’t say anything, just continued to give him a hint of his father’s smile, while Andrew’s expression grew bored. After a few seconds, Lloyd scoffed. “Right. So, foreign intelligence and I just signed on two bright young men, one of them a linguist. Neither of you are afraid of getting your hands dirty, which is good, because while I hope to use Abram’s skills at interpreting and blending in to retrieve information for us, sometimes things aren’t always neat and tidy. Sometimes I’ll need you to clean up messes or create some for us, understood?”

Abram glanced at Andrew and gave a slight nod. “Long as you have our backs,” Andrew said as he tapped his fingers against the arm of the chair. “My priority is Abram and then getting the job done.”

“Honesty, how refreshing. And you?” Lloyd asked Abram.

“Andrew, and then the job,” Abram confessed without any sign of regret or guilt.

“At least you have the courtesy to not lie to my face,” Lloyd huffed. “My priority is getting whatever I send you out there for, but I don’t leave my people high and dry, that I promise you. So don’t piss me off by fucking up, all right?” When nothing else was said, he reached into his desk for something, which turned out to be paperwork that he pushed toward Andrew. “Ashley will sit down with you to complete all of the IDs you’ll require, but you need to fill this out,” Lloyd told him. “As of today, you’re renouncing your American citizenship for the UK.” He waited to see if Andrew had an issue with that.

It wasn’t unexpected, considering what Harker had said, so all Andrew did was shrug while he picked up the papers. “One less tax form to fill out.” Beside him, Abram took to frowning, at least until Andrew shook his head to show that he was fine. “I’m still not calling the damn things ‘biscuits’ or any other of that shit just because I’m changing my citizenship.”

Abram smiled at him, the expression tinged with relief. “It’s only a matter of time, _hon_. Soon you’ll be buying jumpers and putting the bags in the boot.”

“I hate you,” Andrew said as he turned his back on the idiot as much as he could and still keep his eye on Lloyd. “You and your stupid language.”

Lloyd sighed as he eyed the two of them. “Do you guys need a moment or something? I mean, we’re just talking about your job and national security and all.”

Andrew gave him a thin smile. “Gee, that would be so nice. Too bad you don’t have a couch or anything where we could _snog_.” Beside him, Abram sighed and covered his face with his right hand.

Lloyd eyed him for a couple of seconds and then laughed. “Right, I can tell this is going to work out just great! You’re going to torment the hell out of the Saudis, it’s going to be brilliant!” He cackled a little more before reaching into his desk for more paperwork. “One of the first things you’ll learn is nothing gets done around here unless it’s in triplicate form. We’re digitalizing slowly but surely, but some things still require a real signature. I have to have that and these about how you won’t be abusing any government equipment, and then Ashley can get you started on everything you need to for access and security clearances.” He nodded to Abram. “By the time you’re healed up, you’ll be all set to go into the field, but I’ll have some work for you before then.”

It sounded as if Lloyd intended for them to hit the ground running. “What about training or a trial period?” Andrew asked.

Lloyd scoffed at that. “I know what you’ve been up to the last few months, and him the last few years. The only training you two need is knowing who to call now to clean up your messes, and Ashley will drill that into your heads, have no fear. Now, get to it.” He tapped the documents on the desk.

It wasn’t as simple as Lloyd made it seem, since Ashley kept them busy that first day filling out forms, posing for pictures and reading through various manuals, then had them stop by several days in the following two weeks to walk them through the necessary contact lists and protocols they needed to learn. Andrew was for once thankful for his eidetic memory which made learning everything quickly and impressed the stern woman, while Abram managed with only a little difficulty; he was used to learning things like that after being on the run with his mother and had a few tricks to help him memorize the numbers, names and everything else.

Nicky and Erik’s visit didn’t help things… and did, in a way. His cousin had a minor freak out upon seeing Abram’s arm in a sling and the healing scars on Andrew’s face, but recovered faster than Andrew had expected. Once that was done and Nicky spent a little time fussing over the kittens (Andrew was a bit disgusted over how everyone who came into the townhouse had to pick up the furballs and coo over them for a while, but had to admit they did help to settle Nicky and Erik), they all sat down in the living room with a couple of bottles of wine – Andrew and Abram on the loveseat, and Nicky and Erik on the couch.

Nicky gave him a pointed look at how Abram was curled up next to Andrew on the loveseat, resting against his left side with King on his lap and Sir curled up next to him, Andrew’s arm draped over the back of the loveseat so he could tug on his lover’s hair if he felt Abram was being an idiot at any point. “So, what’s going on with the two of you?”

Abram glanced at Andrew, since the two of them had decided that Andrew could break the big news to Nicky. “Abram and I have a new job,” he told his cousin, and noticed how Erik tensed at that announcement.

“Okay.” Nicky frowned a little as he picked up his glass of wine and drained it down. “So, something different in the, uhm, _family business_?”

“No,” Andrew said as he took to playing with Abram’s hair. “We’re sort of out of that now, and working for the government. The UK government,” he clarified.

Erik gaped at them while Nicky appeared confused. “Uhm, okay, how the hell did _that_ happen?” Nicky asked.

“My family has always had a connection with certain branches of….” Abram sighed as he shrugged, a glass of wine held in his right hand. “Actually, it’s probably best if you don’t know too many details, just that Andrew and I were recruited and we accepted the offer.” A rather off-hand way to sum up what had happened, but Andrew agreed that it was best if Nicky and Erik didn’t know the details.

He leaned forward a little to grab the bottle of wine so he could refill Abram’s glass, and noticed how Nicky was quick to do the same with his and Erik’s. “All you need to know is that Abram and I will be doing more ‘official’ work from now on, but that the family will still be watching over you,” Andrew stated. “Our cover will be that we’re still part of the organization, but we’ll be doing government work.”

Erik regarded Andrew for a couple of seconds while Nicky drained his refilled glass. “Thank you for confiding in us,” he said, his tone solemn. “And… I appreciate this, even though I’m sure you didn’t do it exactly for us.”

Yes, Andrew was certain that Erik hadn’t cared for his cousin-in-law working for a criminal organization and could sleep better at night knowing that he was killing people in the name of a government organization. Then he told himself that Erik was German, and that explained things.

Nicky seemed to rally now that Erik had accepted things and smiled. “So, you’re spies, yes? 003 and… hmm, what about Abram? What number is he, eh?”

Andrew threw a coaster at the bastard for referring to his old Exy number like that. “Go to hell.” Yet Abram was smiling, having caught the reference.

“Why are you so mean to me?” Nicky wailed, while Sir jumped to the floor, apparently offended by the noise. Andrew glared at his cousin as Abram settled more against his side and Erik laughed, and refused to admit that he felt an odd contentment in his chest just then.

No matter what the doctors said, he still thought there was something going on with the whole weird feeling thing, but he supposed that he’d just have to learn to live with it.

*******

Andrew should have known something was wrong when Abram started slipping with the languages. His idiot had been sick a little back in London, some coughing and sniffling that he'd put down to the cold that a lot of people had been passing around with the change of seasons, even Stuart and Bren. Abram had seemed to have gotten better after a week or so, a week where he'd insisted on sleeping in one of the other bedrooms so that Andrew didn't catch it, and then they'd been tasked with the assignment in Monaco.

Abram had seemed a little 'off' during it, a little distant, but they had to spend a lot of time in crowded casinos and clubs to track down the target and Andrew knew his lover wasn't pleased with those situations. _He_ wasn't pleased with those situations. Wasn't pleased with the way that Abram had to be 'friendly' with a few people while pretending to be a casual tourist on a night out, just asking idle questions to pass the time. Not that Abram ever did more than smile at the people, but for some, that was invitation enough.

So they both were stressed from the job and under a bit of a time limit, considering that Lloyd needed the target by a certain date, so Abram appearing tired and slipping back and forth between various languages when alone with Andrew hadn't set off too many alarms, other than Andrew deciding that he was going to tell Lloyd to give them a few days off once they dumped the Iranian bastard off the drop-off point. They finally got the target all dosed up and handed over, so of course _that_ was when Abram decided that he could pass out like a damn drama queen.

Andrew would have throttled him if he wasn’t worried half out of his head.

The doctors at the Princess Grace Hospital Center told Andrew that his idiot had an advanced case of pneumonia. That was _after_ they denied him access to Abram's room since it was long past visiting hours and he wasn't family, and it took everything in Andrew to walk away without breaking bones and smashing a bunch of expensive equipment into tiny pieces. Causing a scene wouldn't help Abram and would most likely end with Andrew barred from the hospital, along with drawing unwanted attention to him and Abram in case anyone wondered where a certain foreign gentleman had disappeared.

He called Jamie to let her know the latest bout of stupidity her precious cousin had indulged in while on his way back to the hotel. She told him to get a bit of sleep and that she'd talk to the hospital staff, would make them understand that he was to have every bit of access that a family member or spouse should have and that it would be all right. Then he called Lloyd to explain that they'd be staying in Monaco a little longer, and that the bastard better not even think of giving them any more work until Abram was better. Lloyd sounded a bit aggrieved about the situation, but told Andrew to call him if he needed anything and then when Abram was back on his feet.

Andrew thought about the situation for the rest of the night, about Abram and their jobs. It didn't help that Stuart called at one point, a frantic mess because of Abram’s condition and being so far away, and commiserated with him over how much of a stubborn fool Abram could be; it appeared that he'd done something similar in the past, had gotten sick and refused to acknowledge it, had continued working instead of taking the time off to rest and get better.

For a moment Andrew considered a snide comment along the lines of 'thanks for the warning', but he should have known better by then. And in the end, it most likely went back to Mary, as a lot of Abram's issues did. Mary and Nathan. At least Andrew had the satisfaction of killing one of them.

After managing an hour or two of fitful sleep, he got up, made himself more or less presentable, and left the hotel room. On the way to the hospital he stopped at one of the many expensive shops to be found in Monaco, and then grabbed some coffee and a couple of chocolate-filled croissants for breakfast before he faced off with the hospital staff. That time they were much more polite and didn't stop him from going into Abram's room, which made him wonder what all fear Jamie had put into them, not that he really cared. All that mattered was that no one was stopping him from seeing his idiot.

Abram was asleep on the bed in a private room, a small mask over his mouth and nose and an I.V. in his left arm. The nurse who came into the room with Andrew whispered that it was to help with his breathing, to clear his lungs, and that the I.V. was providing medicine. Despite the older man's faint voice, Abram's eyes flickered open and Andrew caught how his lover's body tensed up, at least until Abram recognized Andrew.

" _You're an idiot_ ," he told Abram in Mandarin while he sat down on the chair by the bed; all around the room were bouquets of flowers, probably from the family. " _I'm going to throttle you once you're better_." He set the bag containing his breakfast down on the nearby nightstand and brushed his fingers along the back of Abram's right hand.

That got him a wan smile and Abram closed his eyes while his fingers curled around Andrew's.

Abram spent three days in the hospital before being able to fly home, with Andrew barely leaving his side the entire time. He slept for most of it, which was good, because there wasn't much Andrew wanted to talk to him about other than his gross stupidity. That could wait for when they were back at home, a washed out Abram tucked into their bed with the cats clamoring for his attention.

Andrew set a pot of tea and a mug on the nightstand and then sat on the edge of the bed, his arms folded over his chest while he took in his lover's pallor, the now obvious weight-loss and the shadows beneath those blue eyes which avoided meeting his own. "Explain to me how you neglect yourself so much that you let what you told me was a mere cold develop into something bad enough to land you in the hospital for three days, into something that could have fucked up the mission and gotten at least one of us killed." Abram flinched at that, which was good. It meant that Andrew had driven his point home. "I mean, I know you're an idiot, but this was... it was off the charts, even for you." He unfolded his arms when King came over to nuzzle his elbow and waited for an answer.

Abram fidgeted with the duvet that had been pulled up to his chest, his expression more than a little forlorn as if he didn't know what to do or how he'd gotten into such a mess (which was bullshit, he knew _exactly_ how he'd ended up in it), and then tried to reach for the tea. Andrew sighed as he poured it into the mug and then wrapped his hand around Abram's to make sure that it didn't end up all over the bed. "I'm waiting."

"I...." Abram sighed, which prompted a couple of weak coughs. "I just, It's how it always was, you see," he said, his voice weak and a little raspy as he finally looked at Andrew, an apologetic smile on his lips. "We couldn't get sick."

By 'we', Andrew assumed that the idiot was talking about him and his mother. "That's nonsense, everyone gets sick."

Abram shook his head then had some tea, his eyes clouded with darkness while he thought about the past. "We couldn't," he repeated. "My... _he_ didn't like it, didn't like weakness," he continued, obviously meaning Nathan, "and then we were on the run. We couldn't risk being slowed down by anything."

Andrew already knew the stories about how Mary had stitched her own son up in various motel rooms and safe houses with nothing but bourbon to ease the pain - _if_ they were lucky. He could well imagine how a prick like Nathan had treated a young Nathaniel for failing to live up to his expectations, and had a good idea of what Mary had done. "So what, you had it beaten into you to just keep going? That still seems like a wise decision here and now?"

Something in his voice made Abram flinch and close his eyes, so Andrew forced himself to take a few deep breaths before he continued. "They're both gone," he reminded his idiot, his voice as gentle as he could make it when he didn’t understand why Abram kept doing this shit to himself. When it tore at him to have to keep piecing Abram back together because of how badly Mary had fucked up the man who was his – his lover. "Stop letting them define you. Don't ever do something that stupid again, do you understand?"

"I... I'll try," Abram promised while he opened his eyes. "It's hard."

"No, it's not," Andrew argued even though he knew better. "You open that mouth of yours, which you seem perfectly able to do any other time, and you say 'I feel like crap'. You do this _before_ you end in a hospital, where they have horrible food and uncomfortable chairs." He figured that needed to be explicitly spelled out, after what had just happened. As if backing him up, Sir chose that moment to meow, the sound plaintive, while he curled up next to Abram.

A slight, tired smile graced Abram's face before he had another sip of tea. "Now it becomes clear."

"Of course, you didn't think this was about _you_?" Andrew scoffed as he took the mug away to refill it. "Couldn't care less about a massive idiot like you."

"Right." Abram's smile grew a little stronger even as he sunk a bit more in the pillows. "Can't have you suffering, _hon_."

"You got that right, _babe_ , now shut up and drink your tea." Andrew sat there long enough to make sure that Abram did, then set the mug aside and leaned forward to brush his lips against his lover's forehead. "Get out of the bed within the next few hours and I really will throttle you."

"I think I'm going to have some quality time with the cats," Abram told him, sounding a bit sleepy as he slid down a little more in the bed. King was quick to curl up in the space that Andrew vacated when he stood up, departing the room so he could deal with letting everyone know that they were back in London and to leave them alone until Abram was feeling better (that was directed toward Stuart and Nicky). Bren had been the only person he'd warned about their arrival, and that was so the man could restock their fridge when he came over to take care of the cats.

Of course Stuart was there the next morning, with Davis running interference so the overbearing bastard could get upstairs to fuss over his precious nephew while Andrew was bribed with cupcakes and caught up on all of the 'family' gossip (which he didn't really care about, but he figured Abram deserved to have a worried Stuart inflicted upon him for a short while and decided to enjoy the cupcakes). After that they more or less were left alone, while Abram spent some more time sleeping and Andrew reading, and the cats appeared pleased to have their warm bodies back to curl up on.

About a week after their return, Abram fixed himself a cup of tea and, after Andrew wrapped a blanket around the idiot, went out to sit on the bench by the fish pond, complaining that he was getting tired of being stuck inside. The weather had warmed up a little, a false tease of summer before autumn took hold with a vengeance, Andrew was willing to bet. It was difficult to believe that he'd been living in London for two years, that he'd gotten familiar with the city's weather patterns, with the cold and the rain, that he no longer missed South Carolina's or California's heat.

It might have something to do with a certain idiot settled on the bench next to him, slouched down enough so that his head rested on Andrew's shoulder, curls tickling the left side of Andrew's jaw.

"The fish are getting fat," Abram complained even as he tossed them some pellets once done with his tea. "Bren always feeds them too much."

"I don't know, they're about the perfect size for dinner now," Andrew said, and huffed when Abram gave a weak elbow to his side, considering all the padding with the blanket and the sweater the idiot was wearing.

"Not funny," Abram muttered, even if he should be used to the joke by now.

"Neither is sitting in a foreign hospital for three days."

Abram sighed as he hugged the blanket around him a little more, his expression annoyed. "I keep saying 'I'm sorry' about that and that I'm... I'm working on it, all right? What else can I do?"

Andrew reached into the front right pocket of his jacket to pull out the box he'd gotten in Monaco and dropped it onto his lover's lap while he stared at the swimming fish, at the pond Abram had wanted, the pond where they'd spent so many evenings and mornings sitting beside each other, just smoking or drinking together, half the time not even talking. Just... just _together_. "You tell me 'yes'."

Abram stared at the box for several seconds before he reached for it, and Andrew noticed that his hands trembled as he opened the small velvet-wrapped container to reveal the platinum ring inside; it looked simple at first, until one got close enough to see the burnished flame pattern on the band. "But...." Abram paused to take as deep breath as he could manage. "This is-"

"I'm not going to fight with some stupid doctor about visitation rights ever again," Andrew said while he once more stared at the pond. "Or any other shit like that. We'll go down to the courthouse or whatever they do here, make it official and that's that." There was a tight pain in his chest while Abram stared at the ring, while he waited for an answer.

Abram took another deep breath then closed the box, and Andrew felt the pain intensify enough that he couldn’t breathe. "We'll need another one for you, right?" Abram said after a few seconds as he rested his head back on Andrew's shoulder, and Andrew was able to breathe again, to move and… and just _live_ again. "Unless... do you want a ring?"

"Is that a 'yes'?" Someone seemed to be forgetting something.

Abram laughed a little. "Yes. It's a 'yes'," he said, sounding a little breathless himself. "It's always 'yes' with you."

Andrew reached over with a hand that wasn't trembling at all to tug on one of Abram's curls. "Idiot," he grumbled, which made Abram laugh again. "Fine, we'll get a ring for me, too. Nothing fancy, though." If Abram wanted him to wear one, he would. Not that it was a big deal, but... it had seemed like making too big of an assumption, buying two of them back in Monaco.

Abram laughed a little more as he held the box cradled against his chest. "Somehow I can't see you going for a bunch of diamonds or anything. No, we'll go together and you can pick it out."

They were quiet for a minute or two, the only sounds that of the water lapping about and the faint bubbling of the small fountain. "If you don't like it, we can-"

"No, it's perfect," Abram insisted, the box clutched even tighter to his chest. "But... when will we do it?" He tilted his head back to look at Andrew.

"The sooner the better," Andrew grumbled as he snaked an arm around the idiot's shoulders, certain that Abram would find some new trouble to get into if they put it off for too long. "Next weekend." That should give Abram some time to get back on his feet and they could always ask Ashley to hurry up the paperwork if the license and anything else they needed took longer than that - one of the benefits of being a 'civil servant', Andrew supposed. That meant Lloyd and the rest of their team would find out, but they did work with a bunch of spies, it was a given that the busybodies would find out sooner than later.

He glanced over to find Abram frowning over something. "What, did one of the damn fish die or something?"

"No." Abram shook his head as he sat up a little, the ring box still held tight in his hand. "Just... we're probably going to need to a nice long assignment, once Stuart finds out." He tapped his index finger against the box. "About this."

Stuart had mostly settled down about his 'precious Ram' the last year or so, but Abram had a point. "So what?" Andrew asked as he rested his hand on the back of his lover's neck. "He'll accept it eventually."

"It's not that, it's just...." He turned to give Andrew a tentative smile.

All right, that was even worse than the damn cats. "Seriously?" Andrew asked as he narrowed his eyes in displeasure.

"Maybe just him and Jamie? What about Nicky, for you? Don’t we need a witness for it?"

Andrew almost said 'what about no', but he thought about it for a few seconds and sighed. "We tell them the day of - the night before for Nicky and Erik - and if they can't make it, that's it." He didn't want half of the Hatford organization showing up at the courthouse to see their darling 'Ram' get married.

"Fair enough," Abram agreed as he settled back on the bench, his expression pleased. They resumed watching the fish a little longer, until Andrew nudged the idiot in the side. "Aren't you going to put that on?"

"Hmm, doesn't seem right when you don't have one." Abram once more smiled at him. "Besides, what if someone sees it before next Saturday?"

Again, he was right – he spouted so much nonsense that it was bound to happen eventually, the law of averages and all that shit. "Maybe Lloyd can reassign us to Russia or something."

Abram chuckled at that, at least until he started wheezing which was a sign for him to head back inside. Andrew had to pry the box from his lover's hand and only managed to get the ring back after promising that he was just holding on to it for the time being, something he rolled his eyes over but inwardly made him feel relieved, and then he was being pulled upstairs to their bedroom after he’d chided his idiot to warm up with a hot shower or bath.

“Soon,” Abram breathed out against Andrew’s jaw. “Yes or no?” he asked as his hands skimmed along Andrew’s arms.

After almost two years together, they didn’t need to ask that question all the time, not when a look or a touch managed just as well, when they _knew_ and _trusted_ each other enough to move past them. Perhaps it was because Andrew had barely touched Abram since he’d been sick, perhaps it was because something important had happened just now, something big.

Whatever the reason, Andrew had his answer ready. “Yes,” he said as he slid his hands along Abram’s hips, desire and a rare sense of possessiveness flaring in him as his hands clenched in the soft material of his lover’s sweater. For so long he’d had nothing, had believed that he’d never have anything, and now Abram was his, in as much as a person could give themselves to another. Had agreed to be Andrew’s.

He met Abram’s mouth for a kiss as his hands slid beneath the sweater, tasted tea and the sweetness of cough syrup as he flicked his tongue inside, then he was pulling away so he could tug the sweater up and off, could remove his own shirt as well. Abram grinned as he slid off the rest of his clothes, as he stared at Andrew while he undressed, then crawled onto the bed.

Andrew grabbed the lube as he followed after Abram, eyes intent on his lover’s naked body – the long, graceful limbs, the flexing muscles, the familiar, faded scars and the colorful tattoos. “Do you want…?” He held up the lube for a moment before he set it aside on the bed; things had gotten to the point – no, _he’d_ gotten to the point where they were able to switch who was on top. Not all the time, he still had some better days than others, but that day… that day was a good day.

Abram shook his head, a grateful smile on his face as he considered the question. “Not today, still too tired.” He reached out to pull Andrew closer while he spoke.

“Oh, so you want me to do all the hard work?” Andrew scoffed at that even as he settled between Abram’s legs. “This better not be a hint of the way things are going to be.”

“Heaven forbid, I wouldn’t dream of taking over your position of the laziest person in the house,” Abram murmured as he draped his arms over Andrew’s shoulders and urged him forward for another kiss. Andrew indulged his idiot for a minute or two, until the sneaky bastard’s mouth began to wander down to his neck.

Nope, if Andrew was going to be stuck doing all of the work then that wasn’t going to happen. He pulled away, prompting a frustrated whine from his idiot, then leaned in to nibble on the spot beneath Abram’s left ear that changed the whine into a low, pleased moan.

He slowly mouthed his way down his lover’s body while Abram’s hands stroked along his head, shoulders and back, touching and retouching every inch of him with feather-light caresses since Andrew hadn’t said that anything below the waist was fine.

While Andrew nipped at Abram’s left collarbone, he opened the lube and poured some onto his hands, making sure to slick his right fingers enough before he set the bottle aside. Moving a little lower, he mouthed along his lover’s sternum, which prompted a faint squirm from a ticklish Abram, before his slid his hand along his lover’s ass.

Abram drew in a ragged breath when the fingers brushed against his entrance, then let it out in a rush when Andrew nipped at his left nipple, followed by the soothing lap of his tongue. Andrew felt a smug sense of satisfaction at watching his lover come unraveled beneath him, at the flush of skin and darkened eyes staring at him through thick lashes, the needy moans and raspy gasps of his name, the lean body writhing at his touch.

The sight and sound of it all, the taste and feel of Abram’s skin – Andrew was left hard and wanting, desire and need coiling inside of him as he curled his fingers and made his lover cry out his name, as he stroked them along Abram’s hard cock a moment later and drew out a frustrated whine as his idiot rocked his hips on the bed, torn between two points of pleasure and eyes blazing with indignation.

“You… damn prat,” Abram managed to choke out, right before Andrew curled his fingers again, a slight smile on his face when Abram gasped in pleasure, neck arching as his head tilted back, hands scrambling to clutch at the duvet and eyes fluttering shut.

“So sweet,” Andrew chided, but he caught his lover’s labored breaths and knew that he’d have to have his ‘fun’ another day, would have to enjoy drawing things out longer sometime else. Reaching for the lube again, he squeezed out enough to slick up his cock, hissing a little from both the feel of the cool liquid on his cock along with his fingers running along its length. All the while Abram watched him with an almost predator intent, his long legs hooking around Andrew’s hips as soon as Andrew was done.

“A little eager, are we?”

“Shut up,” Abram said, his voice rough and low with impatience as he pulled Andrew closer. “You enjoy that a little too much, you prat.” Yet he never told Andrew ‘no’, never told him to stop, so Andrew knew he liked it too, liked how Andrew took him apart and made him feel, made him want to the point of begging – perhaps because it was Andrew. Perhaps because it had never happened, before Andrew.

Andrew allowed himself a brief kiss before he rocked back onto his knees, a little eager himself as he lined up and then pressed inside of his lover, teeth biting into his bottom lip as he pushed past the initial resistance and then into that amazing sense of heat wrapping around him. Abram’s breath hitched as he draped his knees over Andrew’s shoulders, the flexible bastard, his neck arched and hands once more fisted in the duvet.

Andrew went slow at first, mindful of Abram’s illness, of his barely recovered strength, until he was cursed at in three different languages to ‘fucking move’. Snorting a little at his lover’s bossiness, he grabbed onto Abram’s right hip, careful of the scarred area, and held on tight while he sped up his thrusts, his right hand stroking in time along his lover’s cock while Abram once more gasped out Andrew’s name and body shivering.

Fingers brushed gently along Andrew’s left cheek as he rode through the intense pleasure burning along his nerves, fanning hotter with each thrust, each touch, each rasp of his name. He closed his eyes and tilted his face into the caress for a moment, a hint of a smile twitching on his lips at how those fingers never stuttered over the scars, and then they skittered down to his chest to press against where his heart thundered against bone as Abram took to shuddering beneath him, that wonderful heat clenching even tighter and those blue eyes growing wide when Abram came while calling out Andrew’s name.

Andrew didn’t fight the intense wash of pleasure through him just then, didn’t try to ride it out or prolong it, just gave in to it with a few more sharp thrusts that sent him tumbling over the precipice of ecstasy, of the feel of Abram’s fingers in his hair and lips against his forehead as he came as well, nerves afire and singing.

He panted through the aftershocks of pleasure, the slight trembles while he lay there on top of his near boneless idiot. They were both sweaty and a mess, and Sir jumped onto a corner of the bed while they were curled up on each other to make a point of grooming himself as if unimpressed by everything.

“You still alive?” Andrew asked as he poked a seemingly comatose Abram in the ribs, and got a faint moan in return. “No dying until you sign all of your assets over to me.” If he was going to be an official member of Abram’s insane family, he wanted some benefits, dammit.

“Such… a… prat,” Abram managed to wheeze after a few seconds, eyes still firmly closed. Andrew was going to say that someone still needed a few days to recover, but they’d been celebrating so exceptions had been made.

“Come on.” He tugged his idiot off of the bed and had to half carry him into the bathroom, where they soaked in the tub together since it didn’t look as if Abram could handle standing for very long. While lounging in the hot water, they talked a bit about what to do for their wedding (Andrew still had a hard time accepting the fact that he was going to get married, that someone _wanted_ to be married to him). Abram thought that there was a certain time you had to wait for a marriage license but he wasn’t sure, he just knew about the wedding banns people did if they got married in a church (Andrew had the impression that his lover didn’t pay much attention to things like that, which didn’t surprise him) and that you needed at least one witness.

When he got tired of Abram falling asleep on him, Andrew hauled his idiot out of the water and helped to dry him off, then sent him off to bed with the cats (leaving it to him to replace the duvet, he figured Abram could do that much) while he went downstairs to make a phone call. As expected, Ashley knew everything (twenty-eight day waiting period after applying for a license in person, and two witnesses for the ceremony), but she told him that as long as he sent her a couple of pictures from the ceremony that she’d have the license ready for the two of them for the following Saturday, along with an early afternoon slot reserved with the registrar at the Chelsea Old Town Hall.

It didn’t seem so stupid now, Abram always bringing little souvenirs back from their work trips for the woman and other members on their ‘team’.

All that was left was getting Andrew’s ring, which could wait a couple of days, and someplace for them to go to escape everyone freaking out once they realized what Abram had done. It wasn’t that Andrew thought that they’d object, it was that they’d be sending texts and calling and butting their nose in and everything – no matter that Abram wasn’t technically a part of the family business anymore, they still seemed determined to be involved in his life an awful lot. Which meant that they were involved in _Andrew_ ’s life an awful lot.

The next nine days went by quickly, with Abram recovering enough to get back to full idiocy (wanting to go on a morning run the day before their wedding), which made Andrew wonder where exactly he’d gone wrong in his life to end up wanting to spend it with someone with so little sense of preservation. He never claimed to be a good person, but seriously? If he believed in any sort of an afterlife, Bee would be there laughing her ass off over his situation, he just knew it.

After watching his idiot barely put in half an hour on the treadmill without gasping as if drowning afterwards (he so loved being proven right), Andrew sat down at the island while a freshly showered and sullen Abram made him his pancakes. He figured he might as well get something not quite as amusing out of the way and dialed Nicky’s number.

“Andrew! How’s things going? Abram doing any better? The cats all right?” Nicky rattled off before Andrew could say anything.

“Abram’s physically improving but he’ll always be an idiot,” Andrew said, and inwardly smirked when his lover’s shoulders tensed at that comment. “The cats are the cats and still shedding all over the place. Now shut up, I called for a reason.”

Nicky sighed on the other end. “Of course, you never call to just chat.” For some reason he sounded sad about that fact.

“That’s not you shutting up.”

“All right,” Nicky mumbled, and Andrew could well imagine his cousin pouting just then.

Andrew waited a few seconds, but Nicky didn’t say anything else. “Be here tomorrow by 1pm,” he told the pest.

Nicky was quiet for a few more seconds and then sighed again. “Okay, are you going to explain that to me?”

“Nope, just be here or don’t.”

“Just me or me and Erik?” Nicky asked, clearly annoyed at the lack of an explanation.

“Bring him if you want,” Andrew said, his attention diverted to the growing stack of chocolate chip pancakes next to stove.

Now Nicky made a frustrated growl while he tapped something against his desk. “Will Abram be a bit more forthcoming?”

“Nope,” Andrew said. “Come or don’t, it’s up to you.”

“But Andrew, you’re not really telling me-“

“Bye,” Andrew told his cousin before he hung up, then put the phone on mute since he didn’t want to be bothered by Nicky calling him for the next hour or two, hoping for more of an explanation than that. There, he’d invited the pest, so if Nicky didn’t come he couldn’t hold it over Andrew’s head for the rest of their lives.

That done, he went over to press against Abram’s back, and noticed that the tension was gone from his idiot’s body. “That’s my side down.”

Abram chuckled a little as he leaned back against Andrew. “He’s going to show just to piss you off, you do know that? He’ll be here.” He smiled as he turned enough to nuzzle Andrew’s left cheek, then resumed flipping the pancakes.

If he did… then he did. Andrew realized that he wouldn’t mind it, Nicky being there for the wedding. He didn’t want anything big or for it to become a bother, he just wanted some security in his life when it came to Abram. Not that Abram was going to leave him, because after everything that had happened in the last two years, he finally had no doubts about that. He just didn’t want other things coming between them, things he couldn’t control like red tape and ignorant assholes. An official slip of paper would help with that.

And if Nicky, the one family member who had stood by his side through everything was there for that? It didn’t matter too much to Andrew because the ceremony didn’t matter, not as much as knowing that Abram was going through it, that Abram had and would say ‘yes’. But he knew it would matter to Nicky, that Nicky did care very much about things like that, about being invited, being included, so it was mostly fine in the end.

It was Abram’s turn to make the calls the next day; Jamie appeared to take the whole ‘show up at the house at this time’ in stride, while Stuart was more suspicious. Abram merely repeated the instructions and then hung up, before doing what Andrew had done and put his phone on mute before making Andrew his pancakes. Abram was too nervous to eat much that day, other than some toast and a bit of fruit that Andrew had to all but force down his throat, having had enough of the idiot passing out on him for the time being.

They had plenty of suits to choose from for the occasion, though they left off the ties. Andrew had the platinum ring with the faint pattern of fire on it tucked inside the inner pocket of his coat, and Abram the plain platinum band that Andrew had picked out the other day. The cats were fed and curled up on one of the many beds; Bren had been warned that they’d need him to house-sit again depending on how long Nicky and Erik stayed, and all that was left was to see who showed up.

Nicky and Erik arrived at 12:30pm with enough luggage to indicate that they were planning on staying for a couple of nights, at least (it was difficult to tell with Nicky, who over-packed as if his life depended on it). He took one look at the two of them and shrieked loud enough to make even Erik winced. “I knew it, I _knew_ it!” He made an abortive motion toward Andrew before his common sense kicked in and he reached for Abram instead to give him a quick hug. “You’re getting married, right? If you tell me this is a damn joke and we’re here for a funeral, I’m killing you, I swear to god I’m _killing_ you both I don’t care if you’re secret agents and everything!”

Andrew rolled his eyes at his cousin’s antics while Abram smiled. “Yes, the ceremony is at 2pm,” Abram told the pest. “Just a small civil one,” he said while Nicky shrieked once more, apparently overcome with emotion. “But we thought you might want to be there for it.”

“That we might-“ Nicky paused to shake his head and sniff, his eyes shimmering with tears. “Of course, dammit.” He gave Andrew a grateful grin as he wiped at his eyes. “I’d drop everything to be here,” he said, his words solemn despite that smile.

“Ah, who else is coming?” Erik asked as he dug out a handkerchief from his pocket – both of them were dressed up, as if Nicky had indeed suspected something.

“Just Stuart and Jamie, if they arrive on time,” Abram said. “Like I said, we don’t want anything big.”

For some reason that made Nicky cry in earnest, which made Abram blink and look at Andrew in confusion while Erik fussed over his emotional husband.

Nicky finally got himself under control, and had gone up to ‘his’ bedroom with Erik to put away their luggage and ‘freshen up’ (they were planning to spend a few days in London) when Jamie and Stuart arrived, along with Jason and Davis. Stuart was dressed in a suit, as usual, while Jamie had on a nice, tailored jacket over fitted slacks.

They took one look at Abram and Andrew, and Jamie smiled while Stuart took to frowning. “Have plans for the night?”

“Ah, yes.” Abram fidgeted with the sleeves of his suit. “We, uhm, we need you to-“

“We’re getting married,” Andrew said, not about to listen to his idiot hem and haw for ten minutes. “In about an hour at the Chelsea Old Town Hall. Do you want to come or not?”

Jamie let out a loud ‘yes!’ while Jason’s jaw dropped and Davis started grinning, and Stuart just stared at Abram in shock. “What?”

“Married,” Abram said with a shy grin. “We’re getting married and want you to be there for it.”

No, the _idiot_ wanted them there for it, but Andrew kept quiet.

 “But… but you’re supposed to do that in front of the family, after the banns and- ow!” Stuart glared at Jamie, who had just elbowed him in the side.

“They are doing it in front of family, why do you think we’re here?” she told her uncle. “And it’s _their_ wedding, let them do it however they want.” Then she snorted. “I think I’m going to use this as an example for me and Sean, in fact, and save us one huge headache.”

Stuart looked ready to argue, then turned around to first study Abram, who still had that shy smile on his face, and then Andrew, who braced himself for some lecture on ‘treat him right or I’ll gut you’. Instead, all the man did was grunt. “Who’s taking who’s name? You doing that weird hyphenate thing?”

It was around then that Nicky and Erik came back downstairs, but they seemed to realize that something was going on so all Nicky did was grin and wave at Jamie, who waved back. “If it’s all right, Andrew’s going to take mine,” Abram explained.

“Wait, what?” Nicky said, before Erik shushed him.

Abram and Andrew had discussed it the last couple of days, had gone back and forth over what would be best – to keep their own, to do what Stuart had said, to hyphenate with both of their names, or for one of them to take the other’s. Andrew thought that if they were bothering to be married that they might as well do it right, which was a bit surprising considering that he hadn’t thought himself a big advocate of marriage before, and while both of them were fine with sharing each other’s names… Hatford-Minyard or Minyard-Hatford seemed like a mouthful. Abram was willing to give up his last name if it made Andrew happy, claiming that he’d been through so many in his life that they were just labels to him when all that really mattered was having a family he could trust to support him. That had gotten Andrew to think about what his last name meant to him, and he realized in the end that it wasn’t that much. It was something he’d taken on to shed ‘Doe’, was to give himself the impression that he belonged somewhere at last.

He’d never really found that, until he came to England and taken up with a certain idiot and his insane family. In the end, he was fine with exchanging ‘Minyard’ with ‘Hatford’.

Stuart appeared surprised by that and looked over at Jamie, who continued to smile. “We’d be honored to share the name with you,” she told Andrew. “We already consider you part of the family, this will just make it official.”

“Speak for yourself,” Stuart muttered, but the complaint was lacking its usual heat and sounded more rote than anything. “Are you sure about this, Ram? Maybe take a few more years to think about it? Not rush into things so much?”

Abram glared at his uncle while he and Jamie pushed Stuart into the kitchen, followed by a smirking Davis and an oddly upset Jason, leaving Andrew to put up with Nicky and Erik. His cousin stared at him as if he had something growing out the side of his head, which made Andrew give him a flat stare in return. “What?”

“Are you really going to give up your name?”

That was an odd question, considering that Nicky had done just that. “Any reason why I shouldn’t?”

“It’s just….” Nicky gave a weak laugh. “It just seems like you went through a lot to get it.”

No, not really. Andrew had gone through a lot before it had been given _back_ to him, by a guilt-ridden drug addict who had deprived him of it in the first place. Was it really any surprise that he didn’t care to keep it when he’d found a better one? “I like Abram’s better.” He glanced over at the kitchen and found Davis and Jamie urging Stuart to have what looked to be a large glass of whiskey, while the man was hugging an uncomfortable looking Abram. Andrew decided not to intervene. “Should help me get rid of the last of the Exy stalkers, too.” Not that he ran into many of them anymore, but it would help with the job and him putting an end to that part of his life.

“Well, as long as you’re happy with it,” Nicky said.

Andrew gave him a flat look. “I wouldn’t be doing it if I wasn’t.” How stupid could one man be?

“I guess.” Then Nicky smiled. “I still can’t believe that you’re getting married! And that I’m here for it!”

Again, Nicky made as if to hug him, but settled for wrapping his arms around Erik instead after some self-preservation kicked in. Andrew left him to it and finally rescued Abram, who appeared a few seconds away from imbibing something himself, and they finally went off to the town hall after Abram said ‘goodbye’ to the cats.

Andrew drove him and Abram there in the Aston Martin since it had more space than the McLaren 650S, their duffel bags crammed into the trunk, and the six of them made their way to the Rosetti room while Davis and Jason lurked about. The room was nice enough with the cream colored walls and drapery and dark mahogany furniture, but all Andrew cared about was the middle-aged woman in the black robes who was waiting for them, prepared with the license that Ashley had magicked up and the simple vows that he and Abram had agreed upon the other day.

It was simple, it was short, and within five minutes Andrew had a plain band around the ring finger of his left hand and was kissing Abram while Jamie and Nicky cried, and even Stuart was sniffling a little. Luckily, Erik was still together enough to take the pictures that Andrew had promised Ashley, though Davis snuck in for a few snaps that were probably going to circulate around the damn Hatford social network in a few minutes.

They signed the marriage license and that was that, he’d deal with the name change after they got back from a couple of days in Fife at the Fernie Castle, doing nothing but reading, sleeping, eating and enjoying each other.

Jamie wanted to take a couple of pictures of them herself, especially out on the steps for some reason, but Andrew had enough of everyone by that point; it was supposed to be about him and Abram making things legal, making things easier, not about Stuart sniffing back tears, about Nicky and Jamie hugging each other while saying ‘cousins!’, or about Nicky rambling about how he thought the day would never come. So Andrew told Nicky not to fuck up the townhouse too much during his stay and then everyone else to fuck off while he pried Abram out of Stuart hands, and off they went. Lloyd expected them back to work in a few days, so they didn’t have that long, dammit.

Andrew was surprised when Abram lit a cigarette for him once they were in the car and on the highway, since he’d been doing his best not to smoke around his lover – now his husband – while Abram had been sick. He arched an eyebrow in a silent question, but Abram merely shook his head and smiled – though he didn’t light one for himself.

“I think I’m going to keep my phone turned off for the next couple of days,” Abram said as he slumped down in the seat, a slight flush to his cheeks that for once didn’t seem to be related to a high fever or anything bad. They’d taken the time to change out of their suits at the town hall before driving off to Scotland, and wouldn’t get to the castle until late that night. They could have picked someplace closer, but Andrew was looking forward to the drive as well as putting some distance between them and everyone.

“What, and miss Nicky’s hourly updates on how the cats are doing?”

Abram smiled at that and took to playing with his ring, to twisting it around his finger as he stared down at it; for himself, Andrew was very aware of the weight on his finger as he gripped the steering wheel. Fuck, they’d actually done it, had gotten married. It didn’t seem real, didn’t seem _possible_ – some days he kept waiting to wake up and find himself still in that hanger back on the air force base, having dreamt the last year and a half  as some sort of mental escape from Nathan Wesninski’s and Riko’s torture. Or worse, that he was back at Palmetto State and this was all some horrible side effect of the drugs.

Except Abram was sitting beside him smiling, the passing lights of the highway glinting on the strands of his auburn hair and the shadows casting inviting valleys for Andrew’s fingers to slip into along his collarbones and neck thanks to the overlarge sweater he wore.

Abram had said ‘yes’. Had promised himself to Andrew, just as Andrew had said that he was Abram’s. That elusive dream sitting in the passenger seat was Andrew’s, as much as a person could ever be, was smiling at him and settling a light hand, platinum ring glinting in the fading light, on Andrew’s left arm.

“Let me know if you want me to drive for a little bit.”

Andrew scoffed at that. “As if I’m letting you behind the wheel. Just sit there and be quiet.”

Abram laughed at that, his eyes bright and smile wide. “No promises.” He curled up a bit more on the seat, facing towards Andrew as if more interested in him than anything the road ahead could possibly contain.

Andrew felt that now well-familiar warm feeling settle in his chest and fought not to smile as he drove them to their honeymoon.

*******

They arranged for Bren to watch the cats and take care of the fish while they were gone, per usual, and to drop them off at Heathrow so they could fly out to the States.  As expected, Andrew didn't care for the flight too much, but they had first class seats so he spent most of it sulking (not that he'd call it that), doing his best to distract himself with his e-reader and the occasional whisky. They'd arranged a layover in Atlanta to give him a bit of a break before the connecting flight to Upstart Regional Airport, and it didn't come as a surprise when they were heading through customs with their carryon bags that they were flagged and pulled into a private room by an armed guard, drawing curious looks from their fellow passengers.

An older man in a rumpled suit was waiting for them, along with some more armed guards standing attention. "Andrew and Abram Hatford," he said from his seat behind a table, a reinforced laptop open before him and his expression one of displeasure as if he'd been handed an unfortunate task. "Do me a favor and make this quick, all right?"

Andrew pulled his pack of cigarettes from his leather duffel bag, his first one in several hours; he'd been cutting down, but between the stress of the flight and a chance to annoy people, Abram figured that he couldn't resist. "That depends on why we're here. I can't imagine there's something wrong with our passports and I don't remember packing any drugs with the clothes before we left."

"And if I had one of these nice young men pat you down right now?" the man asked, which made Andrew blow smoke in his face at that bit of nonsense.

The man sighed as he stood up from his chair. "Look, I'm Jacobs, all right? Let's just say I'm a counterpart of yours over here, and I've been asked to stop by and make sure that you're visiting for purely personal reasons, on vacation. Nothing business related, right? Nothing that would require a head's up?"

"What makes you think that?" Abram asked as he slung the strap of his own duffel bag over his shoulders, hoping that this wouldn’t take much longer since he was tired and his husband was in a bit of a snit.

"Because you're being a bit obvious about the whole trip, and that makes people nervous," Jacobs admitted. "The two of you can do more than enough under the radar, my superiors don't want to think what you'd do when you're not trying to be subtle."

Especially when Andrew had a bit of an ax to grind against some people here, Abram was willing to bet, considering the whole Harker thing. He glanced at Andrew, who huffed as he flicked ash onto the carpet. "No, we're not here for anything work related," Abram told the agent. "So we'd appreciate it if you'd stamp our passports and let us go."

When Jacobs stared at Andrew, Abram’s husband huffed again. "My ex-coach is getting married. I'm here for that and to show my husband around the old neighborhood for a few days, that's it."

Jacobs continued to stare at Andrew for a few more seconds, until Abram sighed. "Do you want to see the bloody invitation? Even Andrew's cousin is coming over, he arrives tomorrow. We hadn't planned too much mayhem between the wedding and the sightseeing, honest." Not that ‘too much mayhem’ didn’t mean that they couldn’t get away with an awful lot, if they set their minds to it.

The agent finally looked away while shaking his head. "No, that's fine. Just make sure to have a nice, _quiet_ visit," he stressed. "Wouldn't want any other criminal empires to come crashing down this week, would we?"

Andrew flicked some more ash onto the carpet while giving a bland stare. "It's not on our agenda as of yet, but keep pissing us off and we'll see."

That didn't make Jacobs happy, but he wisely held out his left hand. "Passports," he snapped, a glare on his face the entire time that he studied their rather thick passports and stamped them. "We're going to be watching you."

"Whatever your kink," Andrew told the man as he took back their passports. "We done here?"

"I certainly hope so," Jacobs muttered while motioning to the door, which one of the guards opened.

"I think I'm remembering why I decided to stay in the UK," Abram told his husband once they were out of the room.

"They better have fun twisting our tails now, because I'm not about to give them another chance any time soon," Andrew grumbled as he flicked the cigarette into a trash can. "Come on, let's go."

They headed down to baggage claim to grab the one small suitcase they needed other than their duffel bags because of their suits, and then went outside for where the car was waiting for them, per prior arrangements and the text from the driver, Santo. The tall man with a neatly trimmed goatee and friendly smile yet guarded eyes was from one of their 'business' associates in the States, sent as a courtesy to ensure that they had a safe trip to the hotel and back to the airport in the morning.

He was polite but didn't talk much, which was fine with them, considering that they were tired from the flight and just wanted to get to the hotel.  There was a bit of traffic, which Santo managed with ease despite Atlanta drivers appearing to be in a hurry and changing lanes at will, and soon they were checked in at the hotel for the night. The receptionist didn't react over the two of them having the same last name or sharing a room and even wished them a good stay, and they declined any assistance with their bags.

They went up to the 10th floor for their suite, where after a quick check of the place, Andrew dropped the bags and then stretched out on the king-sized bed with a pleased groan. Abram smiled as he joined his husband, content to curl up beside him and close his eyes for a few moments.

"Shower," Andrew said as he tugged on a strand of Abram's hair.

"Yes, I imagine there is one," Abram said as he swatted at the prat's hand.

"No, I want one."

"You want a lot of things. Good luck with that." Hmm, the bed was nice and comfy, wasn't it? Then Abram grumbled as he was hauled off of the nice, comfy bed by an inconsiderate Yank. "You're a prat," he said out loud.

All Andrew did was hum a little as he pulled Abram along to the nice big bathroom with the separate shower and bathtub; once in the room, he let go so he could take off his clothes. Abram sighed as he did the same, since it would be nice to wash off after the long plane ride.

They decided to just order room service once they were clean and lounged on the bed in their robes, content to enjoy a bit of quiet considering that they would have to deal with Nicky, Erik and Andrew's ex-teammates the next day. They would also have to deal with Aaron at some point, since Nicky had confided in Abram that Andrew's twin had RSVP’d for the event, something that had surprised Nicky and made him suspect that Aaron was only doing it because Andrew was also going. Andrew was being decidedly quiet on the topic, so Abram was letting it lie, willing to give his husband the time and space he needed to figure things out - for however much longer Andrew had.

The next morning saw them dressed in jeans and loose cotton shirts despite the fact that it was summer because of their armbands, while Abram grimaced from heat and humidity. "I want to go back home."

Andrew sneered at him. "Suck it up."

"No, I'll just go back home, where it isn't so ungodly hot. Have fun dealing with _your_ friends," Abram said as he attempted to turn around to go back into the hotel, only to have the back of his shirt be snagged.

"For better or for worse, remember?" Andrew reminded him.

"Those vows said nothing about almost 100% humidity," Abram griped while Santo pulled up in the Cadillac.

"Wuss," Andrew sneered some more as he shoved Abram into the back of the car.

Resigned to being miserable for the next few days, Abram sighed and sat down, grateful for A/C at least. There was a little hang-up at the airport when they went through security, until a call was made to explain that yes, they were to be let through even though they were setting off the metal detectors and refusing a pat-down. A slight, smug smile came over Andrew's face at the security personnels' confusion as they watched the two of them pick up their bags and continue on their way, knives still in place.

"It will be so good to get home," Abram sighed.

"Hush."

They stopped for some coffee and sweets for Andrew, and Andrew grew annoyed when the young woman behind the register gawked at Abram when he ordered and then paid. That seemed to happen a lot whenever Abram talked, and it would be amusing if Andrew wasn't so put out by it.

"Don't talk to anyone once we get to Palmetto," he told Abram while they were waiting for their plane to board.

"That's a bit ridiculous, don't you think?" Abram asked while sipping his coffee.

"No," Andrew said, appearing utterly serious about the request. "Not a word."

Abram just sighed and counted on it being a very long week.

At least it wasn't a very long flight from Atlanta, almost nothing compared to the cross Atlantic one, so Andrew's mood didn't have much of a chance to worsen (for once). They departed the plane again (no worries about customs that time), went to pick up their bag and left the airport to find another young man waiting for them, that time a burly gentleman named Dwayne who wished them a good day while standing by a Maserati with a BMW parked behind it, the windows tinted and engine running.

He handed over the keys for the Maserati to Andrew with a pleasant smile, along with a business card. "Everything you need is in the glove box, and call me if there's any problems. I hope you both have a nice stay in South Carolina," he told them, his Southern accent slight but a smooth tug on his words. Despite the heat and humidity and the dark suit he wore, he didn't seem affected by the weather, though he hurried to join his companion in the car once Andrew accepted the keys and nodded.

Abram shook his head at the ostentatious vehicle, gleaming in the bright sun with its metallic black paint, and left it to his husband to figure out how to fit their luggage into the thing while he slid inside, grateful once again for running A/C. Of course Andrew managed to do just that, and after taking a moment to punch in an address to the GPS, they were on their way.

They didn't head straight to the hotel but to a small floral shop that Andrew had contacted a couple of days before, and picked up the arrangement he'd ordered after inspecting all of the flowers. Then they went to a small cemetery several miles away, and despite being out in the heat and the sun, Abram trailed along quietly while Andrew followed the instructions that Abby Winfield had sent to Betsy Dobson's grave.

There were a few other flowers there, suggesting that someone else had stopped by recently, so Andrew left the arrangement leaning against the dark grey marble headstone; it was an elegant marker, larger than most of the others but not ungainly so, stating the dates of Dobson's birth and death, along with a quote about all the lives she'd touched. Andrew stared down at it for several seconds, his expression blank, before he closed his eyes and let out a slow breath. Then he turned around, his shoulder brushing against Abram's, and they left the cemetery while walking side by side.

It was a quiet ride to the hotel, but Abram picked up more a sense of peace from Andrew than anything, so he was content.

They had managed to reserve one of the suites in the best hotel that the city had to offer, and Abram had to smile a little at how far he had come - his mother would have a fit at the sneer Andrew gave the hotel considering all of the dive motels and hostels they had stayed in during their running spree across Europe, considering the motels Abram had stayed in the last time he'd been in the States. Just a _small_ bit of a difference, this visit compared to then - over ten years ago he'd been so desperate, been without hope and doing whatever it took to stay alive. He'd only had his mother to watch his back, her hands harsh as she pulled him close.

Now? He had Andrew always at his side, always there to watch after him and to protect him, just as he strived to keep Andrew safe. Andrew’s hands were always gentle even if his tongue grew sharp, his intentions always in Abram's best interest. Andrew entered the room first and inspected it before he relaxed and turned to Abram and pulled him in close.

Their clothes ended up scattered across the floor as they made their way to the shower, as they stroked across now naked skin in their need to wash off more than the accumulation of the day’s travels. Abram knew that Andrew had to be feeling various emotions at coming back to Palmetto, at seeing Dobson’s grave, and was only so happy to pull his husband against him as the hard tiles bit into his back and the hot water rained down, to give Andrew free rein with hands and mouth to reap the benefits of the pleasure that shot through him at the feel of that mouth against his neck, those hands in his hair and stroking along his cock.

It had been a while since Andrew had broken him down so completely and _then_ allowed himself some release, but Abram didn’t comment or complain, instead he pulled Andrew close when his husband allowed it and kissed him, then washed him clean with all the tenderness he could express with touch and glance. Judging from the way that Andrew pressed him against the outside of the shower and kissed him breathless, then stole the towel he’d been about to dry himself with, he’d say that it had worked.

They spent the night in the room again, ordering room service and raiding the bar, Abram curled up on the bed while Andrew paced about a bit before settling near him, his fingers gentle as they combed through Abram’s hair. “There’s really not much here,” Andrew confessed. “It’s a typical college town.”

“I wouldn’t know,” Abram said. “Never went to college.”

Andrew stilled at that then gave another tug to Abram’s hair. “So I really am married to an idiot.”

Abram laughed at that, partially amused. “You are such a _prat_.”

“An _educated_ prat,” Andrew stressed, and Abram only decided not to stab him because he knew that Andrew was under stress because of the whole Aaron thing. _Only_.

The next morning was them lazing about in bed (Abram decided for once that they were on vacation so he could forego his usual running regime. Plus, he had a feeling that he might be the one being stabbed if he pushed for it) and more room service for breakfast. Abram thought that Andrew was doing his best to avoid running into anyone he might know before the wedding, and couldn’t blame his husband considering his previous encounters with the Foxes.

They eventually got dressed for the wedding, Andrew in his black suit and Abram in grey, their ties loose because of the heat and coats draped over their arms; the event was supposed to take place in a hall indoors, for which Abram was grateful. From what he understood, Wymack and Abby Winfield had arranged their nuptials before the university’s classes started, but he wasn't pleased with South Carolina's summers.

The parking lot at the hall was only about half-full when they arrived, so Andrew parked the Maserati away from most of the cars and they went inside the banquet hall to face the rest of the guests whom they could no longer avoid. "Remember what I said about no talking," Andrew muttered as he pulled Abram closer, his left hand heavy on Abram's right hip.

"Oh for-" Abram glared as his hip was given a quick squeeze, and then Andrew's name was called out by someone.

"Holy fuck, the rumors were right, you _did_ show up!" the young woman said; she had shoulder length dyed pink hair and wore a plain, navy colored dress which showed off an athletic build. "I just lost fifty bucks!"

"Fuck off, Sanchez," Andrew swore as he tugged Abram closer to what looked to be a large room containing set-up tables and chairs - and a bar. Trust Andrew to always be able to find the bar. There was a woman standing by a table with name cards on it, asking people to find their seating arrangements.

"Yeah, it's definitely you," the young woman - Sanchez - said. "So who's the arm candy? Rumor says you got married, too. That you moved overseas and nabbed yourself a rich husband."

"You're not fucking off," Andrew ground out while Abram looked at the name cards, a dangerous note to his deep voice which made Sanchez finally take a step back - that and she seemed to catch a glimpse of Andrew's face.

"Wow, what happened to you? You still fighting and-"

Andrew stepped away from Abram to get closer to the annoyance. "Go. _Away_." Whatever expression he wore just then finally got the point across, because the young woman gulped loudly and left.

"One down, dozens more to go," Abram proclaimed as he picked up their name cards. "Table six, we're stuck with Nicky, Erik, Kevin and Jean, it seems. Won't this be fun?"

Andrew gave him a cool look, which made Abram shake his head. "Oh no, this is all on you, _hon_. We could be in Shanghai right now, or Moscow." Not that Shanghai's weather would be much better.

"Last year's Christmas party," Andrew said, which made Abram wince in remembrance of the event. All right that... that hadn't gone well. Stuart had gotten more than a little inebriated and excessively maudlin, Ally had wanted to know all about 'super secret stuff' and had been more of a pest than usual, and it had gone downhill from there. And then there had been Nicky.

Abram meekly followed his husband to the cash bar, where Andrew ordered a double shot each of whisky and gin. Then they found a quiet corner to retreat to, to watch people arrive while Andrew's hooded eyes kept them at bay. At least, it did until Nicky and Erik arrived.

After Erik bought them some wine, Nicky bounded over with a big grin on his face. "Can you believe this is happening? Do you know how much money was lost on this bet?" He laughed at the now familiar joke while Erik sipped his glass of white wine. "I can't believe how many Foxes have shown up, it's like an uber class reunion or something."

Abram had the impression that the players greatly respected their coach, whom he hadn't met yet, which was why they were showing up, while all Andrew did was grunt quietly, his left hand busy toying with his empty glass. "Haven't seen Renee yet," Andrew said as he gazed out over the crowd.

"I think she's helping Abby," Nicky offered up. "I know Allison and Dan are back there."

Andrew shrugged as if to show he didn't care that much about it, while Abram noticed a young man with dark hair who seemed a little familiar standing several feet away glaring at them.

"Ah, who is that?"

Andrew sneered as he set his empty glass on the ledge running along the wall and made a show of pulling Abram closer. "Jack Matheson, an asshole." Even Nicky nodded in agreement, which was a surprise because Nicky usually got along with everyone.

It took a moment for Abram to place the name, but he did after a couple of seconds - Matheson, a former Fox striker who went on to a so-so career in the pros, currently playing for the Detroit Racers. "And why does he appear so displeased to see you? He lose a bet, too?"

The question earned Abram a negligent shrug. "Maybe because he felt that Kevin didn't give him enough attention with me around, or because he's a homophobic asshole."

"Ah." Abram wasn't very fond of the latter. "This ought to be interesting, then, what with Kevin arriving with Jean." It wasn't common knowledge, exactly, Kevin's relationship with Morea, but Abram couldn't imagine the two showing up at the wedding and people not figuring out that they were together, not after seeing them near each other. Especially since he understood that Kevin was still mending his relationship with Wymack since the truth came out that they were related, and Kevin had never dealt well with stress.

"Yes, shouldn't it?" Andrew gave a pointed stare at the asshole until he went away. "Remind me again why we're not in Moscow right now?"

"Aw, come on," Nicky proclaimed. "Isn't it great to be back home? Well, sort of? You get to see Renee again and tell Wymack how old he's getting."

"There is that," Andrew agreed as his fingers tapped against Abram's hip, right as Kevin and Jean showed up; Kevin appeared to be brushing off Jack by waving him aside as he made a beeline for Andrew.

"-you later," he told Jack, who glared as he came within a few feet of Andrew. "Right now I want to talk to Andrew and Nicky."

"But you'll be sitting next to them all night," Jack said, his voice as surly as his expression.

Kevin's expression grew annoyed, but before he could speak, Jean did. "Go away, you're not wanted." He held Jack's gaze until the striker stalked off in obvious anger. "You need to smack him down more often," he told Kevin.

"I do it often enough on court," Kevin mumbled, before focusing his attention on Andrew. "You came."

"I said I would," Andrew muttered, visibly annoyed at having his word doubted. "Though you shouldn't need me here to hold your hand." He gave a pointed look at Jean, who was standing close to Kevin; Abram knew that if anything, Andrew was here for Jean, to wipe out any remaining debt there might be to the Frenchman for his help back in the hanger, for Jean's help in Kevin standing up to Riko. Kevin might have wanted Andrew here for the wedding for some sort of moral support, but Jean had made the call to Andrew and so they came.

"Thank you," Kevin breathed out as he shifted around enough to stand with his back against the wall and to look out over the room. "It's... it's difficult, being here, even though Coa- Wymack asked me to come."

Abram found it interesting that Kevin didn't refer to Wymack as 'Father', but supposed that it was something between the two of them. He also supposed that, considering the ruckus that the news had created upon the truth coming out about Kevin's parentage and the reactions of the Foxes to him seeking refuge with his potential father but never saying anything until years later (Kevin had spun the story that he had suspected that Wymack had been his father, but hadn't known for certain until his cousin confirmed it, hence why he'd gone to Palmetto State after Riko had broken his hand) that Kevin had every reason to fear running into his former teammates.

Still, he had come to his father's wedding at Wymack's request.

Erik offered to get more drinks for everyone, though Andrew handed over money to pay for the round since they knew that Nicky and Erik were saving up for a house. Erik tried to protest, but Nicky told his husband in German to let the rich people pay for the drinks - not all of them had married well off or were pro players, after all. That earned him a rude gesture from Andrew, while Kevin and Jean just looked on with bland expressions. While they were gone, a server came with some sort of shrimp on sticks that Andrew grabbed several of, which made him happy, and Nicky a couple, while Abram, Kevin and Jean abstained.

Kevin attempted to start a discussion about Exy, but one look from Andrew put an end to that soon enough, so another one started about international travel. Abram and Andrew had to be a bit dodgy about where all they traveled and when - they most definitely couldn't talk about the 'why' - but they had the excuse of working for the Hatford 'business' and fell back on that while Nicky and Erik talked about visiting family and the occasional vacation, and Kevin and Jean about their trips for Court and promotional tours as well as just trying to get away for the occasional break. Abram found it interesting that they often mentioned Jeremy Knox, and that Andrew had a smug little smile on his lips when they did. He had a feeling that his husband had an interesting story to tell, later. During it all, there were a few more stops by servers with various appetizers so they weren’t too hungry before the wedding; Andrew demolished the cheese platter while Kevin and Jean were mindful of their diets and Abram was yet again amazed at his husband’s metabolism.

Nicky was halfway through retelling his and Erik's latest weekend camping trip in Iceland when Andrew went stiff next to Abram, which made him look about to see a short blond man with an extremely familiar appearance walk into the room wearing a navy, off the rack suit with a pretty woman on his arm. Aaron Minyard's blond hair was worn longer than Andrew's and his build was slimmer, a clear sign that he didn't spend as much time working out as his twin, didn't lift weights to build up strength and muscle mass. His face was unmarked by scars, but wore such a sullen expression that Abram could differentiate between the two in an instant from that alone.

Aaron faltered when he caught sight of Andrew across the room, the sullenness giving way to incredulousness, which caused the woman on his arm to look at him in concern and notice where he was gaping. She soon joined in, but another couple came over to them before anything happened.

"Wow, he really did come," Nicky said, a faint quiver in his voice. "I wonder how hard Katelyn twisted his arm to make that happen, considering how much he made it clear what he thought of all of us."

"He cared for Abby," Andrew said, his voice carefully blank; Abram was distressed when his husband ignored the tray of stuffed mushrooms that made its way past them in favor of watching his brother be pulled toward the bar by the couple who had hugged his wife in welcome.

"Yeah, Abby." Nicky appeared bitter for a moment. "Nice that he was grateful to someone." Erik reached over to hug him and murmur something into his hair until Nicky smiled.

There was a lull in the conversation after that, but fortunately, it was only a few more minutes before Reynolds appeared to tell everyone to come into the other room which had been set up for the ceremony. There was a thin strip of white carpet down the center and rows of white chairs with tiny sprays of white carnations and orange tiger lilies wrapped in white and orange ribbons, which Andrew eyed with evident distaste. Abram smiled at him as they sat down in a back row. " _Grateful for our wedding now_?" he asked in Russian.

" _Still think it was too crowded, but yes_ ," Andrew answered back in the same language as he nudged Abram's leg. " _This is hideous. I suspected that Abby’s mind had snapped for her to say 'yes' to Wymack, but this just proves it._ "

Renee came down the aisle a minute later, along with Reynolds, both of them trailed by their dates, and waved at Andrew along the way. Shortly after they were seated, music started to play, some classical piece which Abram thought had to do with 'Spring', and then Wymack came down followed by Matt Boyds-Wilds, and once they were at the makeshift altar, Dan Wilds-Boyd walked down in a simple burnt umber dress that did little to hide her growing pregnancy. She smiled at everyone, and then Abby Winfield marched down to join the three people and the waiting minister in an off-white gown similar to Wild-Boyd's.

It was a thankfully short ceremony, a bit longer to Abram's and Andrew's but not by much, with a lot of sniffling going on in the crowd of about eighty people assembled in the room. As soon as the minister introduced the new couple to everyone and they made their way back up the aisle, Andrew was pushing Abram into the main room so they could grab a couple more drinks then retreat to their seats.

They weren't seated for very long when Renee approached them with a smile and her date trailing after her; Andrew stood up so she could lean in to give him a quick kiss on the cheek. "It's so good to see you," she said. "Belated congratulations."

"You too," he told her. "When are you going to stop living in sin, you harlot?"

To Abram's surprise, Renee laughed at that. "I'm introducing Stephanie to Emilio when we visit in a couple of days, and then we'll plan something small." She smiled at the young man hovering near her, whom Abram understand worked in the Peace Corps as well. Andrew eyed him up and down, but didn't find anything to set off warning bells, it seemed, since he introduced him to Abram and then Nicky and Erik. For his part, Kevin and Jean gave the man polite nods while nursing their sodas.

Abram talked to Jean and Kevin in French about their plans for the next few days while Nicky and Andrew caught up with Renee, which seemed to be spending some time with Wymack and helping out the Foxes before Wymack and Abby went off on a honeymoon and they had to return to New York for training. The impression Abram got from it all was that Wymack was using it as a chance to bond with his son as well as giving the latest incarnation of the Foxes an opportunity to learn from two pro players, and Kevin was desperate to redeem himself in his father's eyes. From what Andrew had told Abram about Kevin's past coaching attempts... he felt a bit sorry for the Foxes, but had a feeling that Jean would reel Kevin in before he went overboard.

After about ten minutes, Reynolds came over, her date nowhere to be seen. "Come on, there's a few people who want to talk to you," she told Renee while eyeing Andrew up and down. "This party is going to last all night, you can talk to the monster later."

"Allison," Renee chided her friend, her mouth set in a slight frown. "Don't be rude."

Reynolds sighed and rolled her eyes. "Is he going to punch anyone tonight?"

"Why, have money on it?" Andrew asked as he sat down while tugging on Abram to sit next to him.

"I'm not going to say since you'll do your best to throw it," Reynolds griped. "Just remember that tonight's not about you," she said while glancing around the table. "You or Kevin, so no drama, all right?”

"Then keep people away from me since I'm not here for them," Andrew told her in that flat way of his.

Reynolds rolled her eyes again at that. "Yes, we're well aware of how little you want to do with us by now, even though you seem to be humanizing a tiny bit." She made a point to look at Abram while she spoke. "Even broke the betting pool by getting married and everything, and to someone who isn't a convict or fellow psycho."

"Go away," Andrew told her, his tone making it clear that it would be in her best interest to do so immediately. Reynolds sniffed a little, but Renee wisely smiled around the table while tugging her friend away.

Meanwhile, Abram grinned as he draped his arms over his husband's shoulders. " _Did you hear that_?" he murmured in Russian. " _I'm the **sane** one in this relationship_."

" _Reynolds is almost as big of an idiot as you_ ," Andrew proclaimed in the same language as he graced Abram with a quick nuzzle to his left temple. " _She's grossly mistaken_."

Abram laughed at that as he pulled away, and it was then that Wymack and Abby finally finished up with their photos or whatever and came into the room, so everyone stood up to greet the couple. They walked around the room a little, and Wymack came over to give Kevin a hug while Abby stopped in front of Andrew. She hesitated for a moment then reached over to give him a very brief embrace, which he tolerated. "Thank you so much for coming, and for everything you did for Betsy." All Andrew did was give a curt nod in return, so she moved on to hugging Nicky.

Wymack eyed Andrew up and down, his mouth tightening when he took in the scars. "I'm glad you came, too." His gaze flickered over to Abram for a moment. "That you're doing well, you damn midget."

"Yeah, it's clear you only proposed because you're getting so old you need someone to take care of you," Andrew told the man, which made Wymack laugh.

"You haven't changed a bit." Wymack offered Abram a grin. "We'll talk later, I want to know what blackmail he has on you that _you_ went through with it."

Andrew made a rude gesture at his former coach while Wymack hugged Nicky as well, and then the couple moved on to the next table. "If I ever suggest anything like this again," Andrew told Abram, "you have permission to shoot me until I come to my senses."

"I'll hold you to that," Abram promised, while Nicky gasped.

"Come on, it's not _that_ bad," Nicky said while they sat back down. "There'll be cake, at least."

For once that didn't seem to appease Andrew, so Abram figured that he'd best head off for some more drinks, that time with Nicky in tow; his cousin-in-law pointed out several people along the way and while they waited in line, and waved to a few of them but didn't seem to be talking to many of them. "It was us monsters versus everyone else," Nicky explained, "Me, Andrew, Aaron and Kevin, and the rest of the Foxes for the five years we were here. Well, not quite five for Kevin, but you get it," he said with a slight shrug. "Renee was a sweetheart and always talked to us, while Dan and Matt tried what they could for the sake of the team. Andrew tried somewhat for Robin Cross, who isn't here tonight, and I mostly got along with Allison. Tim," Abram assumed that Nicky meant Martinez, the one captain after Dan, "tried, too, but the rest were fine with letting us go our own way."

"And of course that suited Andrew just fine," Abram said, well aware of how his husband was about letting people in. "So why did you come?"

Nicky shrugged again, his smile a little bashful. "It's a chance to come visit home with the two of you, to see Abby and Coach and Kevin, and maybe Aaron's changed a little. The last few calls with him have been a bit better. Once we get the house and start adopting, we won't have as many opportunities to come over. What about _you_?”

Abram didn’t want to talk about Kevin and Jean since that was tied to his father, so he motioned to where Abby and Wymack were sitting. “I think Andrew wanted a little closure on things, and this gave him the perfect opportunity. I can’t imagine we’ll be back here anytime soon, considering how busy things are with work.” Considering that it had been made clear that they weren’t exactly welcome in the States.

“I find it so funny, that Andrew’s an ex-pat when he hates flying so much. I always thought it would take a miracle to get him to visit me in Germany, and now we’re practically neighbors.” Nicky laughed while he waved at the bartender. “Well, relatively speaking.”

Nicky and Erik were busy enough with work, though they seemed to find enough excuses to visit whenever they could. Andrew claimed to have found the perfect spot to bury them in the back garden, though Abram knew his husband wasn’t as annoyed by Nicky as he pretended to be. Maybe only a little less annoyed than he pretended to be.

They returned to the table shortly before the servers came around with everyone’s entrées, and things grew quiet during that, with Andrew swiping the piece of garlic bread that had come with Abram’s pasta dish when he was distracted by Nicky leaning in to ask a question. Abram gave his husband a cool look for the latest bit of thievery, but was so used to it at that point that he just sighed and drained his glass of wine rather than complain. He also had noticed how Aaron was staring at them from a table away, and how Andrew was pointedly ignoring those stares and decided to humor his husband at that point.

It was a bit odd, to think of how he’d adjusted to the whole ‘married’ life at that point, though it wasn’t really any different to his usual life with Andrew. He trusted Andrew, he accepted Andrew’s ‘quirks’ just as Andrew accepted his – it was in part the fact that they had been let down by so many people in their lives that they knew the importance in finding someone they could trust, who could respect their boundaries that made their relationship work. They trusted each other without reservation, something that wasn’t true for many other people, so Abram leaned a little against Andrew while surrounded by a bunch of strangers as his husband ate the damn garlic bread and sighed. “ _I’ll buy you a damn cake if we can leave early_ ,” he offered as he spoke in Russian, tired of everything and uncertain of how much longer things would drag on, since this was his first ‘proper’ wedding that he’d attended.

Andrew seemed to consider that as he looked out over the room. “ _Give me a little longer and I’ll hold you to that_.”

“ _All right_.” He turned to nuzzle Andrew’s temple before he sat back in his chair. “ _Is this about your brother_?”

“ _Maybe_ ,” Andrew hedged.

“ _Best to make him disappear after we leave_ ,” Andrew advised. “ _But I can call in a few favors if needed_.” They did have those wonderful business associates here for a reason.

Andrew huffed as he placed a kiss against Abram’s neck before pulling away. “Keep these idiots distracted in case it comes to anything messy. Also,” Andrew smirked as he deliberately took a bite out of Abram’s pasta. “What’s yours is mine.”

“You bloody prat,” Abram told him, but he laughed all the same, pleased that Andrew was in a good mood despite the circumstances. They finished their meal while Erik and Nicky fawned over each other and Kevin and Jean talked about some sightseeing, then Andrew gave Abram a quick squeeze to the back of his neck and then left the table.

Nicky was quick to slide into Andrew’s seat once he left. “So….”

Abram shook his head. “I think we need to sit this out,” he said.

“Great.” Nicky appeared a bit doubtful for a moment, and then he smiled. “They always did best when they thrashed it out themselves.” He leaned against Erik while he smiled at his husband. “I hope we have a little girl.”

“A boy or a girl, I’ve no doubt we’ll do fine,” Erik told him, which made Nicky smile in joy. Abram rolled his eyes at that before he got up for a glass of gin.

******

Andrew left his coat at the table before he went first to the bar for a double shot of whiskey, then outside where it was quiet, the sun setting in the distance and providing a slight easing in the day’s heat; he scoffed a little at how he’d grown accustomed at the cooler temperatures in Europe, even if sometimes there were heat spells as bad as the current weather, and had to admit he’d be happy to be sitting out by the fish pond when it was cooler and overcast and Abram curled up to him for some warmth.

He hadn’t realized how much he’d embraced living in England until he’d come back to the U.S. the last couple of days, until all of the American accents had seemed weird, until he’d frowned at the ‘strange’ currency and cable television and driving on the ‘opposite’ side of the road. He might have taken to living in the UK on a whim at first, but oddly enough he’d settled there without too much difficulty and found a home, had found people who had accepted him… had found _Abram_.

He’d almost finished his cigarette while smoking outside when the door opened, and Aaron spilled out in all of his sullen glory; if Andrew was a normal person, he might have forgotten the exact brooding set of his twin’s lips, the way Aaron’s eyes would narrow in displeasure and he would attempt to wipe out all other emotion from his face _. If_.

As it was, Aaron wasn’t as good at guarding his emotions as the other people in Andrew’s life, as Abram and Lloyd and Jamie were at masking when needed. Aaron paused for a moment and then slowly approached Andrew, his hands shoved into his dress pants while he stared straight ahead.

“So, you came,” he said once he stopped a couple of feet away from Andrew.

“So it appears.” Andrew dropped his cigarette to the ground while he gazed at his brother, while he noticed the differences between them. “Did you expect otherwise?”

Aaron flushed at the question and ducked his head for a moment, before he raised it and seemed to stare at the scars on Andrew’s left cheek. “I’ve heard a few things about you over the last year from Nicky. That you got married, ended up in a nice place in London, that you travel a lot.”

Andrew bared his teeth at his brother. “That I got married to a _man_ , that I live in an _expensiv_ e place, that I’m not a jobless bum, yes?” He scoffed when Aaron glanced aside, his expression now flustered. “How hard it must be for you, to have two _fags_ in the family.”

“Dammit, I-“ Aaron glared at Andrew as he clenched his fists at his side. “I don’t… I’m _trying_ all right? You gave me so much shit about anyone who came near me, yet you let that fucking bartender touch you,” Aaron ground out.

“Is that what this is about?” Andrew asked as he fought not to shake another cigarette free. “I had casual sex,” if one wanted to call it that, “with Roland while I kept a bunch of greedy bitches from sinking their hooks into you, and you hated me for that?”

“Katelyn wasn’t a greedy bitch,” Aaron spat out. “And you’re not with Roland, are you?”

“I never intended to be with Roland in the long term,” Andrew said as he shoved his hands behind him to keep from doing something foolish, “not that you bothered to ask me before you told everyone you knew about our little arrangement.” He huffed as Aaron had the ‘grace’ to look aside, embarrassment shading his cheeks red. “Oh don’t, not at this late date,” he told his brother. “You derived a good bit of pleasure in letting everyone know I was gay, don’t be ashamed now.”

“But you-“ Aaron let out a deep breath. “You drove everyone away from me, I figured I was owed.”

“Don’t even try,” Andrew ground out. “You knew exactly what would happen to me once you let them know I was gay.” Aaron knew how the other Exy teams would react, would take to tormenting Andrew, knew how the other players in the Fox Towers would treat Andrew with disdain. Knew how some of the Foxes would go out of their way to ignore Andrew, considering how they already treated Nicky.

For once, Aaron had the grace to appear ashamed. “Can’t you understand how-“ He didn’t finish that as he shook his head. “You were always the strong one.”

“What, so I was supposed to put up with everything?” Andrew asked as he eyed how his brother hunched in on himself. “Because I could ‘take it’?”

“I didn’t think you would give a damn,” Aaron admitted after a few seconds. “You didn’t seem to give a damn about anything, me included.”

Andrew bit back on a smart retort while Aaron stood there gazing at him with something akin to defiance, except there was too much hurt behind the emotion. After a few seconds, he rolled his eyes and let out a slow breath. “I’m gay,” he told his brother, his tone as even as he could make it. “I’m married to Abram, and I’m happy with him. In England.” He stressed the ‘happy’ part. “If you can’t accept that, then fuck off.”

Aaron frowned for a moment as he looked Andrew up and down. “Who is he? I mean, who-“

“ _No_ ,” Andrew said. “You told me to fuck off in regards to Katelyn, you don’t have any business butting in here.” He glared at his brother. “There’s no more agreements between us, no more promises.”

“Then why the hell does it feel like people have been following me and Katelyn around for the last year or so?” Aaron asked. When Andrew didn’t say anything, he made a scoffing sound. “You can’t get over controlling us, can you? You can’t-“

“All I’ve done is make sure that you and your Barbie doll wife are protected,” Andrew sneered. “Which is more than you can ever say about me.”

That seemed to shut up Aaron for a moment. “But… we….”

“You have no idea about anything, which is for the best,” Andrew told him. “You never had an idea about anything when it came to me.” He felt some bitterness for a moment, then pushed it aside; in the end, the people who did matter to him knew. It just surprised him to realize that they weren’t Aaron. He’d made his own family in Europe, with Abram and Nicky and the Hatfords, with Jamie and Stuart and Bren. “But I don’t care anymore, because honestly? I’m done with all of this. I’m done with you, with the U.S., with anything that ties me to here.” He just realized that what had brought him back here was to cut his ties with everything, really. To make his peace with Palmetto and South Carolina and anything he might have left behind, because he had finally found a home.

He’d found Abram. Found a fancy townhouse in London filled with cats and a pond with stupid fish and interfering mobsters who stopped by to check up on them, with Nicky and Erik visiting every few weeks, and what made it all bearable was an idiot with tousled auburn curls and icy blue eyes and a tremulous smile that still made Andrew’s chest ache to see it.

He pushed away from the wall and went to check on that idiot when Aaron called out his name. He paused to look back at his brother, at the uncertain expression on Aaron’s face and paused. “What?”

“Uhm… can I… is it all right if I call you?” Aaron asked. “Now and then?”

Andrew considered the request, considered the chance for a clean break from everything and then sighed; he supposed that Aaron would still be talking to Nicky and so there would always be that connection. That he would always be getting an update on his brother from Stuart. “Ask Nicky for my number,” he said before he left, unwilling to talk to Aaron any longer.

He’d leave it at that, would see if Aaron followed through or not. If his twin continued to be an asshole then it would be easy enough to block him, to change phone numbers and move on. But Andrew would give him that one last chance to prove himself.

At the least, it would keep Nicky from bitching too much.

He returned to the main banquet room so he could collect his idiot, right when they seemed to be clearing things in anticipation for the dancing portion of the night. No way in hell was he sticking around for that shit. He figured that they could leave before things took a turn for the worse, Abram could figure out how to find a cake for him, and they would enjoy a quiet night in their hotel room. Tomorrow they would head off to Columbia to spend a couple of days and then return to Atlanta before flying home.

 _Home_.

Back to the townhouse for a day or two with the cats and Stuart fussing over Abram and then off to Russia or Saudi Arabia or China or wherever Lloyd decided to send them, but they would at least be together. It wasn’t Exy or whatever else Andrew had imagined his life would be at that point (something much darker and hopeless, to be honest), so he would accept the frequent flyer miles and cat hair and idiot making him work way too much.

Speaking of idiots, Abram was waiting for him with his coat and a smile, so he latched on to Abram’s right hand to pull him in for a kiss before leading him out to the parking lot.

Hmm, the Maserati wasn’t that bad, Andrew thought as he raced out onto the highway with a smiling Abram next to him. Something to consider for the future, though he would probably hear it from Stuart for not buying ‘local’.

“All this way for a wedding and we leave early,” Abram remarked, though he was smiling the entire time.

“Did you really want to be there to see Nicky force Kevin and Jean out to catch the bouquet, or for some drunk idiot to come up to me to ask what I’ve been doing the last couple of years?” Andrew asked.

Abram winced then shook his head. “Why did we stick around as long as we did?”

“I thought so.” Andrew reached over to shove at his idiot’s shoulder. “You should be looking up bakeries right now, I want my cake.”

“Yes, your royal pratness,” Abram grumbled as he began to search on his phone.

“Don’t forget to curtsy when we’re out of the fucking car.”

Abram rolled his eyes. “Unless I’m holding the bloody cake – wouldn’t want to drop it, would I?”

“Surprised you don’t have a stupid alternative word for cake,” Andrew sneered as he cut off a car driving slow as hell in the fast lane. Oh, wait, that was the regular lane over here. Either way, the asshole was driving slow.

“But we do have an alternative lane for ‘asshole’,” Abram said.

“Can’t imagine what it is.” Andrew managed a straight face for that response, and noticed how Abram’s lips twitched as a result. “Make it two cakes, _babe_.”

“Whatever, _hon_. Just pull off on the exit after this one.” Abram held up his phone to show where the nearest store was with a bakery while rolling his eyes, yet he was smiling all the same.

Andrew looked forward to enjoying his cakes and his husband in a room without any possibility of interruptions once they got back to the hotel and shifted the Maserati into a higher gear.

*******

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *******  
> I came SO CLOSE to ending the fic with 'and Abram stole the last slice of garlic bread' but couldn't figure out how to make that work. DARN IT!!!! There also was the possibility of having Andrew spill something on the kitchen floor and ruining the grout....
> 
> There you have it. I know, sweet as hell, yeah? But one of the things that inspired the fic was the wedding scene, of Andrew and Aaron being all prickly with each other and maybe working toward being proper brothers at some point.
> 
> I also had a version in mind where everyone would play Exy at the wedding (that Neil/Abram would cajole Andrew into playing with him in London, and then the Foxes would drag Andrew back into the goal and Abram would join in as well)... but it just didn't work out when it was all said and done. Who knows, maybe the Hatford gossip network will strike up an informal team one day, but I think Andrew has moved past it (and he's too lazy). Unless he can strike a deal with Abram for something he wants and Ally's in the league, so Andrew can nail him with the ball....
> 
> Ally improves a little. A LITTLE. Less of a mess while working, gets better at security, but he's Ally.
> 
> Oooh!!! Fanart inspired by Armies!  
> http://smokesontheroof.tumblr.com/post/152361275527/so-im-keeping-up-with-nekojitachan-s-all-for  
> http://still-waiting-for-godot.tumblr.com/post/155607929229/still-waiting-for-godot-well-then-nekojita
> 
> As always, thanks so much for the comments and kudos!
> 
> So, what now? More Death!Neil fic! And some writing prompt fics. Still have to do those follow-ups for WDWG as well, and waiting to see when I dive in to the Necromancer!Andrew fic (want to make sure I can have some sort of posting schedule going on).  
> *******

**Author's Note:**

> *******  
> Yeah. So that's the main premise, you might see where this is going for the next chapter.
> 
> Comments and kudos are always appreciated!  
> *******


End file.
